My Doctor's Cure

My Doctor doesn't believe in pills, potions, or tonics.
He shuns the idea of bedrest, house arrest, or sitting still.
My Doctor believes in the cure of open skies, new places, and adventure. Armed with a heart of gold, and over confidence my Doctor never refuses a challenge. 
My clever Doctor has saved many with his magic cure.
My lovely Doctor who never wishes to be thanked.
My lonely Doctor with his heart in the stars.
My Doctor doesn't believe in weapons, hatred, or backing down from a fight. 
My Doctor believes in looking up, looking forward, and looking within. 
Look up and you'll find my Doctor's cure written in the stars.
Always move forward but never forget, always forgive but never regret, and always look within during the darkest of times, but never forget my clever Doctor's cure. 

Workplace Warzone

My work is like a war zone. Broken remnants of noodle swords and kick board shields litter the waters of our local pool. Warrior lifeguards fight for supremacy among the waves. Some are locked in heated combat, a challenge of brute strength, trying to force the other under the chlorinated waves while the rest of us watch anxiously on. Cunning loners sneak behind the unprepared viewers, pulling them under. Squeals fill the air as they catch girls, pushing them into turbulent  waters.  Two warriors catch me as I drift among the once calm waters, pinning my arms and legs so I can't escape. I try to scream for help, but the sound dissipates under the water, forming soundless bubbles. Wide, suntanned hands reach for me, but I can't move. Black spots float in front of my eyes, and my captors are pulled away from me. The same hands that reached for me before pull me from what I thought to be my watery grave. I splutter, water escaping from my lungs as I hit the concrete deck. Stale chlorinated air fills my body and a firm slap in my back expels the last of the liquid.  I huddle against my rescuer, too afraid to move, and try not to cry. I must not cry. Everybody has stopped in the midst of their battles to watch, I must not cry. My hands tremor and I fold them against my chest. I must be strong, I must not cry. I hear splashing as the contests resume. Warm arms envelop  me and I know I'm safe, but I still refuse to look at my rescuer. A brisk breeze picks up around us and my water logged body shakes with the cold. A deep voice soothes me while  warm arms rub the goose flesh from my arms, and a dry beach towel is wrapped around my shoulders. The presence of my rescuer leaves for the slightest moment and my breath catches fearfully in my throat. I don't want to be left alone and my body begins to shake  before the presence returns, warm and safe. I must be strong, I must not cry. I turn my head ever so slightly and chance a glance at my rescuer. Bright blue eyes gaze back at me, they are filled with concern and care. His blonde hair is plastered to an open face, and for a moment nothing is disguised. No worry of judgement bars his emotions from me and for the first time, I see the real him. This was not who I expected to pull me from the grasp of the other. This soldier who usually spends his time attacking others, not rescuing people from the grasp of others, I must be brave in front of him, I must not cry. A hint of a smile twitches at the edge of his mouth when he catches me studying his face. Embarrassed I quickly look away, tempted to leave the safety of his arms, but surprisingly they wrap about me tighter. I lean my had against his chest, his shirt soaking up the water that drips from my hair. I sit in the comfort of his arms while the workplace war rages around us. 

The Maze

I feel utterly alone as I traverse the dark cooridors of my mind. It's a laboryinth in here, with numerous twists and turns, dead ends, booby traps that threaten to ensnare my body and never allow me to escape. Caved in tunnels block my path and I'm forced to retrace my steps in search of a better route. Every once in a while I call out for help, my cracked voice weakly echoing back, but nobody ever comes. Deep red welts, painful memories from the past, cover my arms and chest. Some are so deep they cut into my heart, throbbing painfully with every weak beat. They open and start bleeding with the slightest provocation, forcing me to stop my journey long enough to nurse my wounds, but I always manage to pull myself together. There is no light here except the small flame I hold close to my chest, my inner light. I coddle it like a child, willing it to remain aflame. Some days it burns brightly and I courageously explore the complex maze of feelings swirling inside of me, while other days its so dim I stumble over my own feet and run into the maze's thick, concrete walls. I must be ever viligant, lest the brown haied fox return to lead me astray with his sweet words and empty promises. Specters in the form of my family members float ar the crossroads, pointing me in the direction of the exit and giving me words of encouragement. One day I awake to see the horizon alight with a sunrise, the bright golden and red light marking the path out of the maze of jumbled feelings. I run towards the exit, my wounds healing with every step I take, the scars diminishung greatly but never fully disappearing. The brown haired fox tries to lead me away from the path once again butI easily push away his honeyed words and dash towards the exit. Family and friends cluster around the opening, their backs to the warmth of the rising sun, their arms open and prepared to embrace me. I turn to glance back at the once foreboding maze, unsuprised to find the jumbled mess has cleared leaving a clear and easy to understand trail. I return my gaze to the rising sun, finally feeling like I'm home.
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Jump? Or Fly?

It all started with a bridge and a girl. We stood together on the edge of the Brooklyn bridge, prepared to jump. Hand in hand we tottered there, bitterly cold wind whipping off of the river and tugging wildly at our clothes. I didn't feel the cold, only her warm fingers entwined with mine, and her deep brown eyes locked on my face expectantly. Vaguely, I sensed the 5 o'clock traffic rushing by below us. Now I had a choice to make...do I want to jump off this bridge and find out what's on the other side? Or do I want to fly through this life with the beautiful girl beside me? To jump or to fly? That is the question. I take a deep steadying breath and...do I fly, or jump? You decide.....

Friends

“Hagen,” I called out for the millionth time, “Hagen where are you?” I could barely repress a sob from escaping my throat. I felt a warm weight on my tiny shoulders. I turn to gaze into the deep brown pools that are the eyes of my father. “Katie,” he said softly, “He’s gone, he’s not coming back.” At that point hundreds of “what if’s” popped into my mind. What if he comes back and I’m not waiting for him? What if he was caught by the puppy police? What if…what if. “Dad, please. Just a little bit longer.” I begged, fresh tears beginning to pool in my eyes. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before grudgingly nodding his approval. As we walked around the block calling out his name and bribes of treats I remembered all the good times we had together. Taking walks around the block together, me a frightened child and he my guardian. Sitting on the front lawn, his shiny black coat soaking in the sun. I can still feel his hot breath on my face as he panted beside me. A single tear escapes from the corner of my eye as we finally reach home, an empty collar clutched in my hand. Good friends come and go but memories like those last forever.

The Fires

When the fire first started my thoughts instantly went to my books. Most were common fairy tales but several were “priceless” manuscripts from people long dead. I rushed from my room to the library just across the hall, flames singeing my pajamas and smoke filling my lungs. I couldn’t save all of them, and the thought tugged at my soul. I looked to the center bookshelf which was already in the process of being consumed by the flames. I braced myself before thrusting my hands into the growing inferno. I pulled out a single book and clutched it to my chest, its faded red cover smoldering slightly. I curled my arms around it, protecting it from any more damage and sprinted for the front door. The door knob was glowing faintly in the heat so I threw all of my weight onto the door. It fell forwards with an ear-splitting crack. I quickly picked myself and my treasure off of the ground and ran towards the street where firemen already stood, sending a stream of water at my home. I steadied myself on the fire engine before gingerly opening my book. I flipped through pages of faded photographs of my family. Tension drained out of my body at the sight of my saved memories, the last gift from my mother. 

Wise Old Eyes

I see the world pass by through my wise old eyes,

I’ve seen the forests recede,

And the caribou stampede.

I’ve seen the mighty bears migrate north

And have followed the path that they set forth.

As the humans expand, we are forced to compact.

I’ve seen it all through my wise old eyes,

I’ve seen the eagles soar, and the badgers crawl,

From big to small,

 I’ve seen it all,  

Through my wise old eyes.