On Monday
Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He whispers “Go.”
Thus the first scream begins the life she’ll know
A beautiful baby, that didn’t cry but so much
A godsend, whose parents will raise her as such
On Tuesday
Playing in the yard, one late evening with a friend
She tells of a stranger watching from the dark end
When asked, how did she so young, know what to do
Her answer is, a soft wind in her ear told her to
On Wednesday
White powder fresh on her nose, she smokes a joint
Ignoring voices of convention, but that’s the point
But even as she sits, in the dense herbal haze
She hears the breeze murmuring, there are better ways
On Thursday
Well aware without thesis papers, she’ll repeat the term
She stands with her fellow protesters, convictions firm
Even though the tight handcuffs are starting to sting
Susurrus comforts; she’s doing the right thing
On Friday
Her job, her spouse, her kids, her life
She questions the constant stress and strife
Palms upwards she wonders how much longer
Feels the kiss of a breeze making her stronger
On Saturday
Family reunion surrounded by many a grand
And a few greats who sits while she stands
Some family smirk, knowing she’s in her glory
Soft winds making fresh, her oft told stories
On Sunday
She lays frail in her bed, but she is hardly meek
Her years are many, but she often joked, “‘tis but a week”
And thus end her days, upon this earth to roam
Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He beckons, “Come home.”
>========<
Entered in:
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 27
Raivenne-lations 
…Come home
Made me want to cry.
Thank you.
This was a grand parade done in an entertaining fashion. thanks.
Glad you enjoyed it, thanks. Love your gravatar – made me giggle.
Excellent write, Raivenne. I have to admit, it was almost Thursdaay before I realized what you were doing, but hey, gimme a break, it’s almost Sunday over heah!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/01/18/dearest-john/
Oh Charles,
I’m guessing you’re quite a ways from Sunday, at least in spirit my poetic friend. Thank you.
The understanding of time’s passage from cradle to grave is something many forget. Thank you for putting it here in words.
Thanks you.
I think it was Richard Pryor who said something along the lines of, no matter how many years you live, it won’t be as long as the amount of years you are dead. In the expanse of eternity, it’s not even a week.
oh man…powerful stuff…lovve how you laid it out each day…the hardness in many of them…tis only a week…and what a week that was…great write….
Why thank you Brian.
Come home…. lovely weekend to a wonderful life I guess. Thanks for sharing…
Shashi
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com/2012/01/whispers-haiku-on-how-i-write-poetry.html
At Twitter @VerseEveryDay
Thank you, Shashi.
This is such an excellent idea to tell the story of a life within the span of a week. Your stanzas are such that they could be put to music.
It does feel like a week, esp., the closer I get to Sunday – really nice way to present this.
This is absolutely amazing!!!
Beautiful.
I love the telling of a life by weekdays, and especially love that she listened to the wind’sounds wise advice, “there is a better way”.
Wind’s wise advice, darned autocorrect!
Sad and beautiful…love the way the wind stirs through the story.
This is so lovely, poignant, and a wonderful history of a life lived. So well done with the prompt.
A full life!
A lifetime in a week… The only thing we have is that breeze that constantly is calling – love the form and use of metaphor.
There is so much life in a week…Love this!