You are today
as you were
yesterday
and will be
in the days
yet to come
my love
my life
my dreams
and my
anchor
You are my
every hope
for the
future
and my
fondest
memories
of the past
You are my
every sunrise
and every
wish I’ve
softly wished
You are the
answer to
many prayers
whispered
through
lonely tears
You are
the keeper
of my heart
for now
and for
always
my love
Crystal R. Cook 2001
My two oldest boys, both autistic wonders, did not develop conversational speech until they were each around 5 years old. I know all kids go through the thousand questions a day stage, but with them, especially my oldest, it was more than curiosity, it was a need to fill every ounce of themselves with knowledge, facts, and understanding of everything around them . . . they have never stopped asking, searching, and learning. I doubt they ever will.
Why is blue
the color of sky?
Do you know the answer?
Do you know why?
Why is grass green
instead of yellow or pink?
Do you have any idea?
What do you think?
Why is night dark,
instead of the day?
You really must tell me,
now what do you say?
There are so many things
I just need to know.
What makes the birds sing?
What makes the trees grow?
Who made the mountains?
Who put cold in the snow?
I wish someone would tell me,
I’d sure like to know.
Do you know the answers?
Will I ever find out?
Can anyone tell me,
what life is about?
What are clouds made of
and why do birds fly?
I’m just so curious,
I wonder why?
~
These questions were asked
by my inquisitive son,
from the moment he woke
till his day was done.
If I said just a minute
he would ask me why,
If I said I don’t know
he’d say can’t you try?
If I said nobody knows
he’d say can’t you guess?
I tried so very hard,
I tried my very best.
He followed me here
and he followed me there,
now don’t get me wrong,
I wanted to share,
but I needed a break
for my mind was weary,
I just couldn’t take
even one more query.
I looked at my son
and I beckoned him near,
I knelt down and whispered
so soft in his ear,
My sweet little man,
Mommy’s not mad,
but be a good boy
and go ask your DAD!
Crystal R. Cook 1995
(Art by Natalia Maroz)
Stillness surrounds
as twilight fades,
vying the chaos
of the day,
filling my spirit
with sweet respite,
replenishing my
strength
with quiet command,
becalming my senses
with absolute peace.
Angels whisper prayers
silence sings me to slumber,
in my dreams
I hold the stars.
Crystal R. Cook
I remember laying
in the grass with you,
silently watching
the clouds.
We were still young,
innocent enough
to see the playful
shapes hidden
within them.
Our blanket was not
the grass green
from my childhood
color box,
it was not lush
and soft.
The sparse,
dry blades
sharply jutted up
between tiny,
wilting weeds.
My skin ached
where it touched
the prickly surface
of the earth,
but I did
not complain
because I was
with you.
When you
beckoned
for me to
snuggle in
close and rest
my head on your
sleeveless arm,
safe from the
discomfort below,
I knew that you
loved me then.
Crystal R. Cook
artwork – Gerard ter Borch
A lonely young poet
with sweet, red wine
silently welcomes the night
as she would an old friend.
Crimson drops spill
as her glass fills to the brim.
Slowly she sips the nectar
that will transform her world.
Eclectic visions flow forth,
the laureates tongue slurs
under intoxication’s haze.
Her voiceless verbose rambles on
as she empties the bottle.
The crystal goblet glistens
as the days new light
finds its way into her
darkened room.
The page on which she rests
is stained with the color
of tears and old wine.
When she awakes
the words will greet her,
bringing with them
a few, still
moments of peace.
It will last until
the daylight
once again
fades.
Crystal R. Cook ~ 2000
Another nightstand note found . . . I really am a drama queen in the darkest hours of a sleepless night.
Hopeless desperation
fills the endless hours
of my day,
painful longings
embrace me
in the darkest
hours of the night.
Something from the past
beckons, screaming out
to be remembered,
tempting me to believe
what I now need
is what I once had.
As yesterday tries
to swallow tomorrow
I scream out
in silent anguish,
dreams from
another lifetime
yearn to soar
but in the
wakeful moments
of my existence
they haven’t wings
to fly.
Dreams are best forgotten,
nothing more than
illusions and delusions
of what may have been
and what will never be,
leaving voids that
cannot be filled.
Wordless emotions
deafen me,
sunless shadows
leave me
without sight.
The air
which gives
me life
suffocates
and devours me.
Tears have
made their journey,
soaking into
the fabric
of my life,
leaving their
taste to linger
upon my lips.
I grasp for the
unreachable
not knowing
what it is,
coveting its
possession,
weeping for
my desire.
Am I living
my dream,
the ungrateful
recipient
of a gift
gone unseen?
One day
I will
clearly see
and the day
will not bind me,
the night
will have no hold,
ancient longings
will subside,
I will be lost
and desperate
no more.
Crystal R. Cook
This poem was written about a little Angel named Morgan. I never saw him, never held him, never heard his voice, but he will always be in my heart. The words were written after a heartbreakingly beautiful phone call I received from my mother.
I could tell she’d been crying by the crack in her voice, her day had taken a direction she’d not expected, it led her right to a little angel, an angel soon to be spreading his wings to fly home.
She went to the hospital that day, for what I can’t recall, but she was there because she was meant to be. As she walked down a hallway, she could hear crying, something within her heart made her turn toward that sound of sorrow.
She stood before an open door, one of countless many, and looked upon a family, her heart could feel their pain. Surrounded by those who loved him was a little boy, Morgan. He was dying. She somehow became a part of this grieving family for a brief moment in time. Little Morgan touched her heart as she held his tiny hand, his family stood in prayer with my mother, a stranger to them, yet they embraced her in that moment.
She sat by Morgan’s bedside and sang to him, her voice filled the room with so much more than song, it brought with it a calm, a moment of respite for a weary family . . . I cannot imagine what it must have felt like to be in that room, beneath the heavy sadness there was a renewed sense of strength and faith. I imagine it would be hard to find beauty during such a time, but they did. Love, compassion, and faith gathered within those walls and wrapped around little Morgan, his family, and my mother, I can’t help but think of beauty when I imagine it.
Today I kissed an angel
I held his broken wings
My voice rang out to little ears
that could not hear me sing
I smiled my best smile
although he could not see
I know inside his precious heart
he was smiling back at me
At first I thought the Lord
chose me to comfort him
as the hope of those he loved
had begun to slowly dim
As I held his little hand
by his bed on bended knee
I caressed his little brow
it was then that he blessed me
He did not speak a word
he lay still and peaceful there
as my tears began to fall
my voice arose in prayer
To look upon the face
of an angel here on earth
to be a part of God’s great work
is a gift of untold worth
I know that every life
serves a purpose great or small
Even the tiniest child
could be here to save us all
A silent piece of me
will never fully understand
I find comfort in the promise
that he’ll rest in God’s own hand
If he takes his twilight breath
before another sun can shine
I will say a prayer of thanks
for I held his hand in mine
Crystal R. Cook
In a chamber
made of glass,
I sit for all to see.
Vulnerable.
Nothing
between me
and their
conclusions.
I’ve no immunity
in their court,
there is no aid
for my defense.
Condemned
without trial,
sentenced
without
judgement.
Eyes blinded
by ignorance
detest what they
don’t understand.
They know not
who I am yet
I sit, prisoner
of their stares,
behind this fragile
piece of glass.
If it should break
would my
world shatter?
The shards, will they
pierce my heart
or set me free?
My prison
is my sanctuary,
my sanctuary
is my prison.
I sometimes
long for escape,
though I revel
in my solitude.
When I close
my eyes
they disappear.
Perhaps I shall sleep,
in wakeful dream,
and they will have
nothing more to see.
Crystal R. Cook
I can be just a teeny melodramatic sometimes. Well, really only in the wee hours of the morning after I’ve tossed and turned all night. I am not one for drama. Those nights though, when the day has been rough and sleep refuses to visit, I take it out on the page. I am fairly certain if too many of my silent midnight ravings were to be set loose, I would quite possibly find myself locked securely away somewhere.
Thank goodness for the sanctuary and release of words . . . Usually, I find these bits of craziness tucked into my nightstand months after they were written, I generally have no idea what led me to write them. This one though, this was after a particularly rough IEP meeting, fighting the school, again, for the services my son required and deserved. I got them, but the battle wore me down. Everything was wearing me down.
I always feel better after I spill my lunacy upon a page, the therapeutic power of the pen is magical.
Things
in my mind
are not
fit to be
thought.
Aberrations
of normalcy,
detached
from
reality,
if there
is indeed
such a
thing.
Purging
and
pouring
into the
abyss of
what used
to be.
Filling
to the brim
with bile.
The bane
of simple
existence
too much a
burden upon
battered and
bruised
shoulders that
have carried
more than
their share
of suffering
never meant
for them.
Bones crush,
hearts break,
spirits begin
to cry out
for mercy
that will
never come.
Their thirst will
never be
quenched,
hunger will
never be
quelled,
not even
when there
is nothing
left of me
to feed upon.
Darkness
will cloak
me in
the fear
I no longer
have strength
to fight,
I no longer
care to fight.
Respite and
retreat
are what I
long for now.
No more
battle,
no more
victory,
no more
defeat.
Leave me
to my misery
until the light
beckons me
to rise
and face
the battle
once again.
Crystal R Cook
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