Monthly Archives: October 2014

Broken

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Oh little boy,
It breaks my heart,
To see yourself shadowed,
By unkind words,
From those,
Who say,
You belong to them.

Oh little boy,
With eyes so wide,
Taking in pleasures,
Of the world.
Only for them to be snatched,
From those,
Who say,
You’re worthless.

Oh little boy,
With fabulous dreams,
You have strength,
That cannot be measured,
In an age,
So young,
And innocent.

Oh little boy,
You come to me,
Broken.
I offer hope,
That’s measured in knowledge.
It’s free.
It belongs,
To you.

Oh little boy,
Your heart is patched,
By those,
Who see your place,
In this world.
One day,
You will,
Be free.

Oh little boy,
In years to come,
Let your wings,
Lift you high.
Fly back,
Strong, proud, and laughing.
I’ll be here,
Waiting.

By Aimi Medina 10-26-14

Little Voice

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Art by Molly Harrison

She’d knock on my door,
“It’s me!” she’d say.
We were off and running,
Down the sidewalk to play.

I knew she was special,
Could have stayed home instead.
But I listened that day,
To the little voice in my head.

One day she surprised me,
We traveled far and wide.
Looking for gold,
That rainbows often hide.

I knew she was special,
Could have turned away instead.
But I listened that day,
To the little voice in my head.

She follows me everywhere,
But she’s hidden from sight.
She talks to me often,
When I can’t sleep at night.

Sometimes we have friends,
Made from nothing at all.
They come from within,
From a child so small.

When I hear her whisper,
She says what to do.
Confident in words,
Loyal and true.

I knew she was special,
Could have wished her away instead.
But I always seem to listen,
To the little voice in my head.

By Aimi Medina 9-8-14

When There Is Life

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I once asked myself,
And God,
Are the little things enough?
When a life is in question,
When you wonder and weep,
Can the little things be justified,
And measured so deep?

Can I determine,
Ones will to live?
Whose choice is it really?
Ours or His?

The flowers he watered,
In terracotta pots,
Brought beauty
From within,
To our warm sunny spot.
The breeze of a butterfly,
Moving the air,
Casting a shadow,
Of a life,
In our prayer.

A faraway moment,
It’s hard to believe,
How we chose to spend time,
Rather than grieve.

What if it were me?
Is that really fair?
To judge someone’s life,
From my own despair?

And so I still question,
When the road becomes rough,
Is it still worth traveling?
Are the little things enough?

There came a day,
When the stems couldn’t hold.
Bright yellow petals,
Once glistened like gold.
They fell to the earth,
In the soil they rest.
Planting their seeds,
Tucked away and blessed.

The sun lights the way,
For us all to see,
Breaking my silence,
It’s hard being me.

The flowers,
Have life again.
And now,
So do I.
When there is life,
There is reason.
Here is where,
My answer lies.

By Aimi Medina 10-11-14