This poem was written in 2020, about a friend who disappeared from my life. It was during the COVID-19 pandemic, and I had fallen. Broke my wrist. The doctor could not set it in a cast. It was that serious a break. So, seven days later, I saw an orthopedist for surgery.

Weeks went by. I recovered. And within three months, I was pretty much back to myself. I got one phone call from my friend. He told me he was sorry. Days went by. Nothing. Not one word. So, in the fullness of time, I went on with my life. Five years have passed. Once a carefree friendship. Now, silence. An absence of sound. Muffled.

Your voice stayed with me through turbulent times. Presently, your voice has stilled. It’s in a state of being alone. Staying away from me. Yet, I hear you. I hear you with my sixth sense. I listen. Carefully. I hear all the sweet nothings. All the words that didn’t hold up. Then you told me you didn’t want to be part of my life.

Even after this, I bless you. I hold you up to the light, and I forgive. I know I’ll never hear from you again. Still, it would be nice to hear that you are all right. It would be nice to hear my friend’s kind voice—the way you used to be.

Silent Voice

As the days go by,
Your silent voice grows thicker,
Thick like a cumulus cloud
Ready to erupt.

Your once carefree soul
Now stands in the mist
Of turbulent thoughts,
Seeking silent stillness.

Day by day you retreat
Further into solitude.

Your muted murmur
Says not a word.
It has no sound.
It speaks without a voice.

Yet, I hear you anyway
With my subtle sixth sense.

I listen carefully and clearly.
You tell me with your own
Sweet sealed lips

That you are leaving my life.

You tell me
That you love me,
That you care about me,
And that you are concerned
About my happiness and me.

However, you urge me to go.
You urge me to move on with my life.
You urge me to be happy in my journey ahead.
And urge me to remember always,
Never to forget!

Yet, all I want
Is to hear your sweet, loving voice.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Original text ©2025 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image by GerritR via Wikimedia.

In 1985, at the end of a long day, I wrote this poem as that long day settled into dusk.

I had been searching for calm and balance my whole life, and in the hours before me, I prayed and searched for balance. Something to remain upright and steady within me, where the elements are equal or in the correct proportions. A oneness. A harmony. A truth I could lean on, its stillness to quiet my hurt, to take away my emotional pain. I wanted to make peace with my anguish. I wanted to understand balance that cannot be forced.

The red rainfall keeps pouring, pounding down upon me. Yet, I keep my mind ajar. Patience. Looking for the light. Why? I ask with an open heart. Because I know I’m not on the other side yet.

I keep mindful, exploring, with a mindful attention. It hurts though. It hurts to be still and quiet and face all my unhealthy behaviors. But maybe, just maybe, I can do it a little at a time. Maybe I can do it gradually and piecemeal. Maybe I can breathe through it with a consciousness or an awareness while looking and moving forward toward the answer. Together, with the light. With a balance clearly from the divine.

Tonight, maybe I can dig deeper to accept more and let go of my haunting issues about the way my body responds to the foods I eat and its allergies.

I give myself the permission to heal with love and care.

Showers

In the hours before me,
I see no balance.
No sense of oneness.
No acceptance.
No stillness.

I see only extremes
In the afternoon’s
Crimson showers

They encompass my every thought
Its cerise rainfall fails to bring bright
Light even when I look that way
I keep looking for that lit sky,
Which others often find!

But I,
I keep searching and waiting
For that one special day
When balance will become mine!

I wrote this poem in the summer of 1983.

A few miles’ drive from my house, I sat down on a bench, alone. I needed time for myself.

Looking and wondering, I waited for a bit, surrounded by swings and grass for sweet children’s play, but near a barbecue pit where I could burn my writing. Not my poems. Other writing.

After a while, I walked back to my car and picked up my bag of personal writing, then returned to the park.

Standing outside the circle of stones, I said a prayer for myself and for all who ever suffered a broken heart. Then, bit by bit, I watched my hurt, my pain, burn as I stirred the flaming paper into dry ashes. All I needed was to stand there and let it all go.

My eyes followed the smoke up into the sky, moving about from star to star, from constellation to constellation. I don’t know what I was searching for, but there was a quiet seclusion all around me. It felt kind and gentle, tranquil.

I sat back on the bench and allowed myself to feel the power. A translucent light glowed, kindling something within me. It ignited a flame, a flame so bright it has never left. So bright, I could remove myself from the presence of negativity. So bright, I could stand alone in any storm. So bright, I could let the light of self-acceptance fill my being in sweet solitude.

No one could see me glowing, but I did.

Shimmering Solitude

The sapphire sky
Did not shine
Until I saw
Translucent lights
Glistening a silent glow.

It was dark.
Silently, staring into
The star’s night,
I found myself far
Removed from reality,
Looking at the light
Of sweet solitude.

It was the winter of 1983—the coldest one ever. Then spring and summer came and went. And through the seasons, extreme sadness gripped me. Life would not give me a break. It kept throwing curve balls. One after another, they never stopped.

Yet, once more, I knew that if I stayed the course, remained positive, and did what I had to do, I would see the blue skies in a new light.

Those sad months saddened me, moved me, and made me become a better human. I had no choice but to better myself. Through it all, I found ways to rebound, to recover, and to develop the resilience I needed to thrive. I had the willingness to face whatever I had to, and I am thankful I was blessed with the capacity to recover quickly.

Seasons

The ice melted in the depths of winter.
The flowers bloomed in the cool spring air.
And as the summer air crept along,
So did the gray azure mist.

It was thick with sorrow and despair
And the hopes that maybe, just maybe, the sky
Would soon clear!

I wrote this poem in 1984. It was a chilly day with rain on the way. That Saturday, I wrapped myself in a soft blanket, filled with love and care. And I filled myself with a firm resolve to strengthen my being and take action where needed.

Remembering When

In the quiet solitude
Of my home,
I settle myself
In a cozy chair,
As I recollect
My distant past.

I remember many
Thoughts and memories
Of my life.

I remember my
Triumphant moments
As well as my
Terrifying dismays
Of many a lit past.

The days,
The weeks,
The years gone by,

All lined up like
A bittersweet bouquet
Arranged as a
Beautiful vine.

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Original text and image ©2025 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved.