Finding some meaning...Sharing.

Nightmares; comforting dream or waking in am with a FULL POEM in my head; then blasted with a nasty memory.

Some of the poems are about a Hobo.  I slowly remembered as a child, I would sit and talk to a Hobo outside my house. I still do not know if this is a real person [there was a train depot 1/2 mile away for a paint factory] or of this is how I saw Jesus.  My deep feeling is that it is Jesus. 

There is a reason I get the full poems in my head, more than just to calm me, before the horror of the memories come. I woke up this am realizing this truth.

SO today I am going to share the latest poem that came to me with everyone.  If it gives one person hope,  peace or inspiration, than that was the "meaning" for the pain.

The Visit    4/21/12

Sitting in despair, cold and weary.

The Hobo appears in a whisper

From some unspoken prayer.

Peace and calm waft from the Hobo.

He squats, reaching out

To hold my hand.

I close my eyes, he cannot be real.

A peaceful, deep breath washes my fear

open my eyes, the Hobo’s still here.

I crawl upon his lap; as he sits down.

Our breaths come in together

As his loving arms come ‘round.

Hobo quietly tells me I am loved.

Safety, warmth and comfort

Are infused into my being ~

I hear my name called…

I hold onto my Hobo tight.

Mother yells my name again…

open my eyes-sigh-he is gone; I must go.

I was abused for 15 years by 4 members of my family, mother being one of them.  Can not describe of course due to triggering people. 

I believe I used my imagination and expanded on the story and created The Hobo.  I can not remember the person at church, yet.  The Hobo is always kind, there is never any fear or anxiety for me.  I think I transfered Jesus into the Hobo as a child.

The poems come in all different moods and topics.  For instance this one below is about my husband and the way he puts his warm hands on my face and head to help with the TN pain when it hits in the am. Before meds.

Have a wonderful evening....Trina

YOUR HAND 5/25/12 

Dawn breaks soft, grey and wet.

 My world explodes into shards; bright and piercing.

I hear the whirr, then the buzz

Temporal areas want to explode

Trying to burst; haven’t yet.

Four fingers and a thumb callous, but warm

Ease the moan.

Your hand encompasses my face;

My temple; giving blessed darkness

To the chaos.

Although scarred, rough and worn;

Your hand emanates

Gentleness, compassion and love.

The war in my small world subsides.

Blessed peace returns.

Head and face are tender.

I know the enemy will return;

And Your Hand will be there

As before.