There are those that climb and others who watch from a distance.

Past and Present were poured into a cup called life. Present provided the substance which was filtered through a screen called Past and poured out into a basin called Eternity.

I remember things I didn’t want to know

Thoughts and feelings lost

In the undertow of sorrow’s Torrent

Spectators look at the triumphant survivor and applaud,
Heaven sees the same survivor in the context of her history
and stands in awe.
 

©linda settles
 

She knows, she sees but  disagrees

with what her senses tell. It cannot be!

Can not... Oh, well...

The years wing by and childhood screams

Against injustice, silently.

Oh, treasure ruined, oh awful cost!

"Now I lay me down to sleep"

Beside the bed on dirty floor

she kneels

No bath could wash away the grime

she feels...

I'm Stepping Now....

A poem about moving beyond abuse...

A poetic word about the importance of maintaining a quiet time...

A Soul Set Free

Unbounded Joy

Unfettered Grace

When I think of all we've been through--valleys dark and shadows deep
The trembling child who thought she walked alone on barren steeps
The howling tempest of a storm that snatched her breath away
The crouching tigers in the night-the slinking beasts of prey,
That came at her with salivating grins and razored claws
Wolves in clothing of a sheep, all bloody fangs and paws.

Trust is the broken thread that unraveled long ago in the heart and soul of the victim of abuse.   She trusted, she believed, she was deceived, and her heart was stained with the quiet violence of a perpetrator's lust. She was taken in, and took the blame for her own victimization. Only now, as she walks the path of recovery does she dare to believe that it was not her fault. She has been told: "No matter how you responded, no matter what you said or did, if you were a child when the abuse began, you are not to blame. You are not to blame for the invasion of your soul by the perpetrator of abuse. He may have seduced you, or used bribes to induce you, he may have threatened to do you harm, or kill the ones you love. It doesn’t matter the method that he chose to gain access to your soul. He knew things you could not know, and used them to bend your will to his.For that, he will answer to the Father of us all."

Love poured out through broken vessels...

Sometimes it's time to look beyond
the suffering of the past
To lay aside, for just awhile,
the questions and the tasks
of processing the pain, the loss
the strugle to believe
that there is purpose in the pain
 and joy in sorrow's sleave.

Sometimes your heart is aching,

breaking, torn in two by sorrows keen.

You know you knew but didn't know

you knew 'til now. You thought you

merely dreamed.

Gifts Freely Bestowed

 When one we love is suffering

And in their eyes we see

An ocean of pain,

A mountain of hurt

And myriad miseries,

When their heart is torn

And the mangled threads

Of nature’s covering bares

A broken heart--a stranger found

It was shattered and broken, the packing scuffed and torn

The box beneath the Christmas tree was smudged by grime

and worn.

The role of care-giver in addicted or otherwise dysfunctional families is that of an "adultified" child who assumes responsibility for her siblings--even when it robs her of her own life.

A poet is like a sponge, soaking up the feelings of others and expressing the experiences of many. My heart is no longer shattered, though I sometimes notice the pain of past bruising. Yet, I will not forget. I will remember the pain and rejoice in the healing. Like a little lamb, drawn to the Master's side, I will go--and He will carry me.

The thief that came to steal a small girls life came face to face with her contender--Invasion of the Light.
 

Why am I crying? Sometimes we don't know--that is when the tears are flowing from our soul...

Where is God my maker who gives songs in the night?  Job 35:10

I awakened this morning with these words flowing through my mind.  I penned them with a heart of gratitude that my muses have returned.  Praise the Lord O my soul who gives me songs in the night.

We need to rest awhile

Every survivor of trauma knows that hiding the pain deep down in the pockets of our subconscious mind will not remove the sting of it. Every survivor knows-- and so we process, and we study, we read, and we try to work it out, like a thorn stuck in our foot. We pick up the tweezers of truth and pry away at it-- while trying to hold back our tears and frustration. I know. I have worked as hard as any one I know, and I have grown wiser in the process. I have learned that the chronic presence of pain becomes consuming, and sometimes it is necessary to take a break from all my efforts to "heal myself" and hope in the confidence that while I rest, my Heavenly Father does not sleep.

There is nothing more beautiful than an aviary where plants and flowers, butterflies and birds dart through sun crested skies contained by walled windows of glass. 

Keeper of the aviary come--and take me with you when you go...

Eyes of Love

I look into the mirror and You know what I see.
The scars of a thousand battles, glaring back at me.