"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Monday, February 28, 1994

Searching For Tomorrow

Right now...
The abyss of unattainable light;
seething in desperation;
breathing corrosion and decay;
of emotion
Hopes tattered and frayed;
An eternal climb
with no footholds;
An intanglible window of escape;
Captivated and imprisoned by depression;
Tossing pennies into an invisible dimension;
Wishing from the depths of an arid well;

Tomorrow...
can't even be contemplated.
Dreams Scotch-taped to my eyes;
running water and swaying trees;
air I can breathe;
a living I enjoy and excel in;
a piece of art, yet a piece of me;

But...
it's too dark to take pictures!

Him...
As much as I long for the day,
I can't see him in tomorrow either,
but like never before,
I want him there.
The water would be bluer.
The trees would be greener.
I would be me.
It's hard to rise each morning
and get through each day.
I hope he knows
I breathe each breath
for a tomorrow with him.

February 28, 1994

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 12:44 PM

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