Will You

Will you remember me when you are old and gray?

Will you remember the times we played?

Every day I spent with you was one more day

of new laughter, smiles and to feel brand new.

I bathed in your curiosity and awe

at the simplest things you saw,

the first for you and the hundredth time for me.

You reminded me to feel young and free.

We listened to timeless music for me

yet it was cool and fresh for you, as

we danced in the early morning hours,

snuggled while you slept beside me.

Exhausted as I was, it was all for you.

It all seems like it was just yesterday.

Will you remember me when you are old and gray?

Will you remember the times we played?

Will you remember me telling you I loved you so?

Kimberly Molyneaux

05/24/2022

For my children and grandchildren

Guilt

Guilt is a horrible thing to own.

It will awaken you in the middle of the night

when amid slumber sleep

you dream of your misdeeds, again.

You reach out to hold the one you promised

to never let die alone.

She awakens you in your sleep

to let you know she is well and urges you to rest.

Guilt is a horrible thing to own

It will shake you at any hour of the day,

when fully engaged in the mundane

or when you finally feel painless for a fleeting moment.

You see a resemblance of the one you loved

walking across the street with umbrella in hand.

She turns at you and smiles

and for a split second you feel reunited with the one you lost.

Guilt is a horrible thing to own.

It is a warm welcome to reckon with what was lost.

It urges you to make peace with those you yearn,

to reconcile with but brush you away.

It rises to throttle your throat, to gasp for air

wanting that imminent breath to cleanse your fears.

You see it as a gift deemed for forgiveness. Redemption.

You pray for those here, now and departed,

to love you for who you are today. You love them regardless.

Kimberly Molyneaux      

05/22/2022

Renewed

Lord, I am riding a storm.

Right now, the water is deep.

I can hardly see the shore.

My feet are cemented in the thickness of the mud.

I am drowning. I am paralyzed.

I can see the angels surrounding me.

As I cry out, they tow me in.

Lord, I asked you to step back, so

I could find my way; to dig deeper into my ocean floor.

After a long harrowing journey

I rise from the water renewed.

Kimberly Molyneaux

2022

Unnoticed

Tears are coming down.

Hard. Heavy. Hollow.

Without a sound from her.
They gently glide. Gallop.

Contradictions.

Cemented on her face like a layer of clothing.

Evaporating into nothing.

She sits unnoticed in a crowded café.

Alone. She sits by the window.

Kimberly Molyneaux

2022

Recovery

Forever flowing like a river,

hitting, breaking rocks along the way,

smashing against the unknown elements in the moment.

Breaking free. Floating. Flatline,

twisting and turning to align

with light from the trees.

Breaking free to feel the warmth of the sun,

drying the tears from my cheeks,

bringing light to the empty nights of my soul,

bringing life to soil which was barren.

Now, here and there, a glimpse of a union

with the flow of the river; a glimpse of a union

with my souls’ evolution,

dumping into the ocean bed.

Finally, untangling to breathe,

rising to the surface.

Kimberly Molyneaux

05/18/2022

Lesson One

It begins with me.

Forgiveness is my function.

When I live my purpose, everything is That; is One.

I love with each breath I am given.

I am as God created me.

I radiate joy, peace and happiness,

as I spread my wings across the skies.

I sprinkle my light,

the message of Truth,

touching each dancing lily as she blooms.

We together are the light of the world.

We are love, the peace of God.

Even when I forget my function,

when I fail to live my purpose,

it begins with me.

Kimberly Molyneaux

05/18/2022