#98

Stories remain, engrained in the legacies we fight to leave and the faces of those who listened long enough and deeply enough to chart a new path in the present with the insights of the past.

#97

 Stolen stories miss the mark

of deep wonder, where heralds hark,

bringing the hard-working hearts

to a stranger's hearth.

A new mother holds her child,

affirmed by a cousin's wild

story of Holy Conception,

matches her angelic reception.

Why would a night be silent?

Why would a newborn be mild?

A star shone against convention;

A king ordered infanticide.

A family fled back to Egypt;

A people only complied.

Into deep sadness, Messiah arrived

Noticed only by the faithful,

the humble,

the grieved.

#96

 Every cry is

a reminder that you're here,

Earth-side in my arms.

#95

 At every stage, my question rings 

                "How?"

a wondering, a longing

attempting to solve or uncover

the great mysteries.

#94

 these marathon days

and nights (the nights are longest!)

pass quickly, I hear

#93

 processing so much

within, beyond and among

the struggle made real

#92

 "Am I beautiful?"

The simple question from the younger soul

reminds me this question is

timeless, old.

A longing to know our own

worth, our role

in the world spinning madly

out of control.