Can You Believe Me?

Re-posted for new readers:


What if I were to tell you
that the world could never be the same without you?
What if you believed that you were truly priceless?
And what if all the years you’ve lived
were rolled up in a purple ball
and given to a newborn child
who’d grow one day and say to you . . .
"Teach me . . . "
Do you think your life holds lessons to be learned?
And when you sift through the stones and pebbles
you’ve stumbled on,
do you see the gold dust and the crystals too?
What if I were to tell you that you shine,
that when you enter a room and smile . . . .the lights go on?
Can you believe me . . . that you are loved and forgiven
and that you will always be remembered
for the good you have done,
that which you so easily forget?
Would these things make a difference?
Would they help you to breathe in the moments
one by one
that you . . . like all of us . . . take for granted?
And what is life anyway, but a gift . . . .
a pure gift . . .
We can look up and see the stars,
We can dream . . . . we can love.
We can truly live forever . . .
right now.

Joanne Cucinello 2007

It Was Amy

She turns around
now and then
to look, to gaze
behind her
at something eternally
familiar...
the beating heart
the stillborn image
floating free...
catching up in time
to touch her soul
reminding her
that
once she had a child
named Amy.

That quiet giggle
passing sometimes
in a breeze
across the lawn
scented with her
sunlit hair . . . dancing

could have been a butterfly
perhaps, but no.

And then that young man
who returns each year
the day in May
when she was born

to find her spirit
playful
at the water's edge
around the cove
where she stands again
with pebbles shining
in her hands . . . Amy.

Joanne Cucinello

May I Never Forget

Lord . . . what can I say to you?
How can I look through the doors
of heaven and still be standing?
You wrapped me in a blanket of comfort
and hid me from the shadow of darkness.
You lifted me, surrounded me
with angel's wings.

What could have been my ending
the last thought in my head
the last tear from my eye
became a pillow filled
with gladness and my heart
a blooming rose.

Lord . . . you thought of me
remembered me
said that my body was not
to walk among the dead
but to walk hand in hand with the living.
You knew I had more to give
and stayed the hand of the Reaper.

May I never forget this day
and the mercy poured upon me
the feathers of the angels
white and pure
and the faces of those
who wept with smiles for me.


Joanne Cucinello

She Sings . . . Even Though

I don't know
where the moon rises these nights
but it does and I sleep
even though
I can hear her singing to the stars.

I have wondered lately
what will become of us
without her light
should she never rise again
in the heavens
singing.

I am but one lone soul
among many
who inhabit this earth
wondering
why we have come
to rest in this spot of green and blue
floating out here in space
in such darkness.

Why? we all wonder
have we been chosen to arrive
at this our solemn destination
so filled with yearnings
and unimagined greatness . . .still
unfolding.

Is there a puzzle
we've yet to solve
even the best of us?
Is there a song we've yet to hear?

No matter . . .
still she sings of a place
beyond time and dreams
when all was stardust once
sparkling with love.

Joanne Cucinello 2008