Charyl Says


The Universe Thinking
October 2, 2015, 3:24 pm
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Within my heart
beats iron,
forged in the stars;
with time and distance
so unimaginable,
the elements that
bridge my synapses
can barely comprehend them.

The Universe thinking about Itself.
-C. Miller, 2015

CrabNebula

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There Are People…
September 4, 2015, 4:34 pm
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There Are People…

Every weekend I get a little piece of my heart ripped from my chest.  I bear the burden alone and then I come back to emptiness.

There are people who like every picture I post and reply with an encouraging word.

There are people who offer help on bills when I’m falling short.

There are people who want to fool around and hang out when it suits them.  Nothing more.

There are people who want to get together for a movie or whatever else every few months to catch up and talk about the superficial things of life; sometimes purely out of pity, sometimes because they simply have nothing better to do.

There are people who ask how things are going… to be polite at best, nosy at worst.

There are people—unhappily married—who crave the attention they think I can give them, but hide it from the rest of the world because they’re too afraid and they know it’s not right.

There are people who wish I lived closer because they’ve always wanted to be with someone like me… someday… when they’re ready for all that.

There are people who wish I would be with them not because they love me, but because they need someone to take care of them.

There are people—quite a few—who already have spouses and best friends and significant others and families at home that message every so often to check in and tell me they’re praying for me.  They mean well.

I am thankful for them all.

But where is my sanctuary?  Where is my partner, my best friend—the one I can come home to?  Where is the person I can count on to feel safe sharing a deeper, more intimate connection; the person with whom I can cry and share joy and travel through the years?  My life is half over and I’m tired of “someday.”

You begin to realize that no one really wants you… at least not that much.  There will always be something or someone more important.

No matter what I do to keep myself busy, to keep social, every weekend I come home from my daughter to silence, missing another little piece of my heart with no way to replace it.  Eventually it will be gone.

 

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If the World Would Pause for Just a Moment…
November 11, 2013, 3:09 pm
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OldPoem

So my mother was cleaning out some of her drawers today and found this small notebook with just one written page.  Judging from my signature on the outside, the patent date on the notebook, and my writing–I wrote this rough draft sometime in the mid-90’s; probably 1994 or 1995 (around 16 years old).  I have notebooks full of my writing and poems in high school (and before) and this poem isn’t exactly prize-worthy (it’s actually kind of embarrassingly bad!)–but this particular poem and finding it after being stored away for so long… it just seem special.  It reads:

If the world would pause for just a moment,
and time would cease to be.
If I could see your face if you had one
I wonder how would your eyes make me feel?
Maybe someday I will see your face
though just through chance we would meet.
But is there such a thing as chance,
or is it all a scheme?
I wonder if I might awake
and realize this all is just a dream?
The world is a sea of heartache
that frankly never bothers me.
What that is, poses a good question.
Yet another earthly mystery.
 

Seems like even back then I knew there was someone special I needed to meet.

 
 
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Bringing Me Back to Myself
May 25, 2013, 12:56 am
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Bringing Me Back to Myself
 
I didn’t realize that
I had killed my heart
in order to survive
the last several years
of my life.
Dead in my chest;
like a stone.
 
A soul can’t thrive
carrying that weight around, I know.
 
But some still loved me anyway;
holding out their
emotional life preservers –
ones that I could never quite
seem to grasp.
Flailing in murky water.
Drowning in the sorrow
that filled my lungs;
struggling against
the final gasp.
 
Then I heard His voice…
His song…
and a gentle rhythm began
once again, inside my chest;
swelling—painful at first.
Breaking my soul wide open.
Beginning the quest.
 
~Charyl Miller
 
 
 

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Mother’s Day
May 13, 2013, 7:35 pm
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Mother’s Day
 
I’m sure you sat with me
as I sat alone;
watching the other mothers
with their children and their partners,
fussing about in the pews,
in their Sunday Best.
Tiny babies, hugs,
arms draped around shoulders.
Family.
 
My own children in another state,
with another parent.
My own mother—your daughter—still at home,
busy tending to my disabled father.
Not many others to speak of.
 
The church had the children
pass out flowers—
long-stemmed pink carnations—
one for each woman.
Mine was handed to me by a little boy
I didn’t know.
 
I drove out to the cemetery
on the edge of town
and put it on your grave.
For what use is love
when it is only received
and never given?
The one moment that day
I wasn’t strong enough
to keep myself from crying.
 
Then I went back home,
and waited for a call
that never came.
 
~Charyl Miller
 
GrandmaEva
 
 

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The Picture
April 8, 2013, 7:36 pm
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That picture still haunts me.
The one with the blood
and the bone
and the eyes forlorn.
The one with panic
woven subtly into a background
that’s fraught with symbolism.
 
It was taken just down the road–
a world away.
And the photographer–
famously unknown–
so proud of his award;
but then again, not really.
 
You know the one–
where the subjects seem
to be drowning,
either from flood or from sorrow,
or both?
There’s an animal…
or is it a child?
No matter–
the pain is the same.
 
The one that–without words–
so skillfully describes
the human experience;
the downfall of our existence.
 
That picture…
it still haunts me.
 
~Charyl Miller
 
 

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Walking the Path
April 7, 2013, 11:10 am
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I see you there;
Illuminated by Darkness . . .
Drowning in shadow. . .
Consumed by your dreams.
You think I don’t know?
You think I am oblivious
to your heart—
and all its
maddening schemes?
Give me your hand,
and watch as the
shadows turn to dust. . .
“Those” memories,
they burn away in the
wake of your trust.
 
Yet I reach out my hand
and pull it back empty.
There is only silence. . .
A wall fashioned by
indifference and stone.
 
A void that
no other can fill.
 
Still, after it all. . .
I walk this path alone.
 
~Charyl Miller
 
WalkingPathAlone
 
 

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