poem, "the language of summer"

the bridge is a land apart

leading to fields of meadow flowers.....pale blue       yellow        bright orange.

soft crimson petals 

                             lilting quietly in the language of summer, a time of the fragrance of smiles.

the bridge crosses over shallow waters, speaks to tiny pebbles and soil that has been 

washed clean and pure.

      it waits for the silent traveler, whose footsteps are laden heavy with dark fields 

                                                                                                                  and heavier clouds.

across the field, i see the bridge. it is a vehicle to move my heart and soul far from this ground, 

this dark room, filled with rain and rivers overflowing.

i never knew a bridge could be freedom. it is a new planet, a different word and sentence for me to hold and remember. 

like an expanse of land empty and waiting for history to be made, beyond the bridge the fields are vast to explore. 

the bridge is a land apart, separate from each corner of the room. 

it is beyond me

as far 

as 

the eye

can see.

by Debbie Schramer

poem, "the door"

waiting does not always mean the door will open but still i wait.
sometimes, i walk away, i find another place.....a meadow, a path, the forest, the clouds.
the clouds take me away instantly. i can feel myself floating in them away from all this.

the wall, the clock, an empty table.....speak with their softest voices, it is your soul talking and someone is there listening. they are kind and quiet, they wait but the door is already open. a room that is always open.
a spiritual person, who is a friend but not seen. they are always there, you can trust 
that they will always be there.

hopelessness, weary from walking, waiting but the door is just there. 

i know i am not alone, but i am alone. if it weren't for that one spirit that always follows me,
always waits upon me
always comforts me,

i might lose.

i watch, i listen, i think about those who are around me. it is comforting for a short time to feel 
what their lives might be like, to open a door into a world other than my own.


by Debbie Schramer