Evelyn Klebert

They make us delirious,
they make us despondent,
so highly predictable
inflexible, unyielding.
Happy little pictures,
joyful illusions,
that upon first glance seem quite harmless,
until life hits a bump,
takes an unexpected bend,
and we move so far afield from where we thought we’d be.
Happy little promises,
expectations all lined in a row,
joyful, beguiling, merciless in their thorny grip,
suffocating as they bind us,
and so exhilarating when we finally let them go.

Is he so charming?
Is she so engaging?
Are they so comforting, initially, that is
So understanding of all your dreams
Supportive or so it seems?
Are they the close friend,
the confidant,
the one to lean on
or so they say?.
Is he the suave suitor
who on first glance
fulfills all expectations,
so perfect, too good to be true?
And as time goes on,
slowly your own wants slip away,
but it must be your choice
to let go of them
as you find yourself conforming
and bending to their life.
Are they the ones that seem to shine brighter
when you’re around,
yet somehow your brilliance,
your own inner light seems to dull?
Do you become their protector,
filling a role you never intended,
a subtle shift, a gradual slide,
while you were looking elsewhere,
and everything you once were
slips away like sand.
once so strong,
the essence of who you are,
dissipates into nothingness,
as though it never was.

The man that I love
is a prince when life is calm,
when times are good.
He is attentive and
all that can be dreamed of.
The man that I love
is a partner when life is stormy.
He tries to bury his own pain
even when it is nearly too much.
He continues to care
even when the stress
seems too great to care.
The man that I love
still cracks a smile
when there is little to smile about.
He rallies my spirits
even when there is little left to rally.
His core remains the
same, strong, steadfast soul
whether we’re riding the waves of success
or struggling through the strife of despair.
I recognize him in all times
constant and loving.
That is who he is.

Do I have to wait
for something to change?
For someone else to decide
that they’ll be different?
Do I have to wait
for life to take a turn,
for chains to melt away,
for something to change?
Do I have to wait?
Or can I simply decide
to stop waiting,
to change,
to be free,
and melt my own chains.

What’s the point
I ask myself,
of holding onto pain?
“It’s not pain,”
I would argue,
“but my right to anger.”
But why cling to something
that’s clearly so destructive?
“It reminds me
to be careful
and never let my guard down.”
A costly reminder
I should say
as it fills up every space it occupies,
then it bleeds over into places it has no business being.
Until all joy and happiness becomes infected
with this hot poisonous stuff.
Does it really keep you safe
This righteous anger?
Does it lighten your heart
or crowd it so that there’s room for nothing else?
“It’s difficult,” I say,
“an old habit.”
Habits take time to break and work to do so.
“It’s scary,”
Of course,
it walks hand and hand with fear.
“But I’m tired of it.”
Yes, it will exhaust you in the end,
only take and give nothing back.

I was walking in a dream,
one cold and bitter night,
but where I traveled was warm,
just filled with  a quiet light.
By the side of a pond, where serenity lie,
I met a young man
that I could not recognize.
But even I had to admit,
with him was an air of familiarity,
a dignity, a grace,
a humor in his smile,
dimples and of course a most handsome face.
We sat down beside the pond,
where the wild flowers grew high,
and spoke about the simple things
as the time slowly passed by.
The more he spoke and laughed,
again I felt keenly that I should know him,
and when finally I asked him if I did,
his eyes widened somewhat in surprise,
blue, just like the clear sky overhead.
His reply was simple and direct,
“No, but one day you will.”
As I pass now through all the days of my life,
I often think of that dream,
of eyes so crystal blue,
and I wonder of that day ahead
when we might meet again.

At times when it is quiet,
and silence wraps around.
I think I hear a footstep,
just lightly passing by.
It startles me
when I look and nothing obvious appears.
But then I remember
that I have an angel
who always keeps so near.
At times when all my burdens,
become more than I can face.
And all my strong resolve,
melts away
like sand sifting through my fingers.
I suddenly feel a lightening of the darkness,
a stirring of gentle happiness
and remember she’s watching over me,
my dearest dearest, sweetest, gentle one.
And when the greatest joys float lovingly through my life,
I feel a quiet hand
sharing in all my delight.
Her voice floats in on whispers,
her beauty I glimpse in flashes.
her strength she lends so freely,
unselfishly and without hesitation.
Truly a gift and always my cherished blessing.

For those who wait quietly and patiently
so others may grow
who push when its needed
and step back just enough
to give room for wings to spread.
For the watchers and cheerers
who are always in your corner
even when you’re too busy to notice.
For the ones that say their silent prayers
and understand even when the world can’t seem to,
For the ones whose strength you draw from
even when you think it’s all you.
For the ones who take their greatest pride
in their children leading a full and happy life.
For the nurturers who enable us to chase our dreams,
For Moms whose gift of giving graces our lives.

I’m not sure why you stepped into our lives,

brought with you an energy, a brightness that reminded us to live,

live with energy, with joy, with brightness.

I’m not sure why you chose to come our way,

to bring a sweetness into the darkest of times.

How you graced us,

and then you left.

I’m not sure why,

but even as we missed you,

we felt that cool sweet breeze when you opened the door to leave.

The one that reminds us of what will be.

I’m not sure why you had to go,

but I do know we are better for the time you were with us.

When does a mystery yield its secrets?
Not on my clock,
not on my time,
when I demand it do so.
Pushing, and pulling,
and trying to force its lock.
When will a shadow find its way to sunlight?
Not when I deem it is far past sunrise,
not when I expect it is time for it to do so.
When will a seed planted finally bloom into full flower?
Not by predictions of experts,
not by forecasts of weather.
but when and only when the seasons shift,
boding a full and imminent change.