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Wednesday, June 30, 2010

A Lighthouse On the Harbor

A poem dedicated to Olivia


I went searching for a lighthouse
that could guide me to the shore.
There once had been a glimmer
but, alas, it was no more.

The sky was dark and moonless
with not a star in sight,
the wind was whipping harshly,
and the cold began to bite.

The waves were crashing loudly,
and the tide began to rise.
The undertow had pulled me
farther from the midnight skies.

I was drowning in my sorrows,
pulled under by despair.
I felt my body thrashing
but I could not meet the air.

I felt the end draw nearer
as each moment passed me by.
With no hope for sweet salvation,
I heaved one final sigh.

I let myself sink lower,
'til my feet did touch the floor.
I could feel the sand beneath me
as my soul shook to the core.

But something jerked me forward,
and I was raked across the tide
until my body broke the surface
and my hands did touch the sky.

I looked on the horizon,
and to my utmost glee,
I saw a lighthouse shining,
and an angel beckoned me.

I swam with vim and vigor,
eager to meet land,
and my heart swelled with great rapture
when my fingers touched the sand.

I stood up and I smiled
when the angel touched my face.
I was grateful for this second chance;
moreso for her grace.

I'd an angel's light to guide me
from a sea of wrath and fear
to a shore where hope runs rampant,
and reflections stare back clear.

I once was so transfixed
by all the reasons I stood out
that I never learned to love myself,
and was overcome with doubt.

I began to slowly purge myself
of gluttony and sin
until all the mirror showed me
was brittle bones and skin.

No soul behind my eyes,
and no heart within my chest,
I became a perfect robot,
but I was sicker than the rest.

For in my journey to conform,
I drifted out to sea.
My secret almost drowned me
and I nearly ceased to be.

But then an angel called me
and led me to a mirror
where, for the first time, I did see myself,
and the truth became much clearer.

I hated what I saw,
for that girl was not alive-
she had purged into oblivion,
her beauty was contrived.

Olivia, the angel,
had that for which I longed:
a beauty that came freely,
not by doing oneself wrong.

And so, her hand in mine,
I walked a winding road
towards health and love and freedom-
things Bulimia forbode.

The journey made was long,
and I took many a wrong turn,
but I made the greatest effort,
and I've so much left to learn.

For I'll never be so free
as to say I do not suffer,
but I'll stay so far away
as to say things could be tougher.

And I'll always have my angel,
with her halo and her wings,
to steer me down this narrow path
amd remind me of these things.

My angel is Olivia;
she's the reason I'm alive,
with her smile sweet as candy,
and beauty one could not contrive.

She saved from myself
in the very bleakest minute.
She showed me what I could be,
all my heart, and what's within it.

And you still hear it beating,
for I overcame great strife
with the help of sweet Olivia,
for she gave the gift of life.

Happy 94th birthday, Olivia!!!


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