Life is Fragile


Is it just me

who looks at the stars 

every night

and stops

and thinks

of how fragile life is.


How we find such joy 

and care

in that short time we have


How we learn to desire

and hope 

and wish


And yet,

life goes so quickly

that we all but forget

the little things

that once made us smile

and laugh 

and love


How easily we think 

of the hurt we caused

or the pain we felt

or the suffering we had


and yet we cannot easily recall that which mattered to us

in times of need. 


Life is fragile.

A constant battle between love and hate,

a continous struggle between hope and despair

and yet we all live our lives in this exact way

never considering that one day

we will no longer exist

and all that will remain 

is what we gave to the world

whether that be good or bad. 



Author's Notes/Comments: 

some drabble about life and how fragile it seems to me. Enjoy! 

I Wish I Could Stop Myself From Getting Any older

I wish I just could

Stop myself from

Getting any older.


Remeber when my dad

Would push me off 

So I could ride

My bike.


Or when my mom

Would show me

How to read on those 

Warm summer nights


And all the roads

We traveled down

To see the things

I dreamed about


Oh I wish just could

Stop myself from

Getting any older.


One day I could find a

Love and we could

Start it over


And maybe we could

See are selves

When we were that much young.


And I know just can't

Stop myself from

Getting any older


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Last night Deborah and I we were treated to dinner it was a wonderful night I must assert.

We sat at a table (actually 2) one for dinner and one for dessert!


When we returned home, happy and full, Deborah tossed her purse on the table with ease

After locking the door and hanging up my jacket, I tossed on my wallet and keys.


As I stopped for a moment and looked at our old table I was overcome with tears

For I realized how important that table has been to our family down through the years. 


This is the table where our children grew up, it’s seen their laughter, their tears, felt their screams

It’s not only where we tossed our purse and our keys it’s where we piled our hopes and our dreams.


If I look hard enough I see children doing homework, coloring, or playing a game

Soaked into that table are memories of who they were, and the knowledge of who they became.


If I look again I see grandchildren and hear joy and laughter overhead

Only the voices don’t say Mom and Dad anymore they say Nana and PopPop instead.


It seems this table has been a confluence where our family has sat, laughed and dined

Once we leave we take a little bit of each other with us and leave a little of us behind.


Most days now at our table it’s just Deborah and me, now that our children are grown

But we both know when you eat at the table of never eat alone.


Then I realized everyone has tables where they’ve piled things over the years

Where they’ve shared dinners and parties and laughter and love and blood and sweat and tears.


Yes we often take them for granted, it may take us a lifetime to see

That it’s not just a table we’re sitting’s part of our family.


So the next time you’re looking at photos, before your looking is through

Look closely and you’ll find a table, chances are it is smiling too.




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As she stands at her window

Looking out at the view

Thoughts of his soft touch

Race through her mind


She remembers his smile and his eyes

But what she remembers the most

Is how their love was one of a kind


Her heart longs to be close to him again

And feel his presence in sight

Her feelings are so strong

She doesn't know how much longer she can fight


She wishes she could hold his hand

And tell him that they are going to be okay

But she knows that no matter what she does

The guilt will continue to eat at her every day


She regrets letting him waltz right out of her life

Like he mean't nothing at all

Now she's stuck dealing with the pain

With no hopes of standing tall


She wants so much to hold him again

And look into his eyes

But she knows that no matter what

The pain just won't subside


So she looks to the Lord

And gets down on her knees to pray

Asking the good Lord to show her

A will if there is a way

To fix what she messed up

And to let him know she's sincerely true

But until she's shown the way

She'll be left with the question of wondering what to do?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written for a friend

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Symbol of Love

Adornment of burnished gold,
reflecting back on lifelong dreams
Seen upon an outstretched hand,
symbol placed forever gleams
Cresting gem flickers with light,
transfixed look of continued gaze
Journey starts within the mist,
depicting scenes of cherished days


Falling tears from misted eyes,
wispy clouding of shadows cast
Memories sought often speak,
whispering echoes from the past
Spirit lives in mind and heart,
vows bestowed in altars aisle
Years were graced in clasp of hands,
beloved held closely all the while


Cuddled slumber nights content,
reveled embrace so tightly sealed
Taunting raptures serenade,
tending caress saw passions yield
Faltering heart never known,
faithful pledge folded to breast
Witnessed seasons thriving love,
sharing of lives was truly blessed


Hazy shades from teary eyes,
softly spoken the last goodbye
Lonely dwelling from within,
nightly content now taunts with sigh
In earthy bosom’s final bed,
silence surrounds your peaceful sleep
Satin chamber sealed with kiss,
caress will come from angels keep

© C.E. Vance

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another handful of words.

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Claudia's Tree

A summer storm blew down an oak in Claudia’s yard yesterday

It’s odd but the mere thought of that has caused me some dismay.


Joyce Kilmer understood the tree. He wrote about it in a verse.

And If I may, my own two cents I’d like now to disperse.


I loved to climb trees when I was young and the trees didn’t care at all.

In fact, somewhere in my heart I knew the trees wouldn’t let me fall.


High through the skeleton I’d climb until I swayed upon the breeze

I was a pirate in the crows nest in a ship upon the seas.


When I played hide and seek or war my stately tree didn’t mind

If I used him as a decoy or a place to hide behind.


Even in my love life trees played an important part

They allowed me to carve in my initials...and those of my sweetheart. 


When the climbing stopped and the games abated with the passing of the seasons

I continued to enjoy the trees albeit for different reasons


Trees weather almost any storm and still stand strong and tall

And is there anything more beautiful than a tree dressed up for Fall?


They go to sleep in winter when the wind through them does sing

But they comeback with a passion to bloom again in Spring?


They furnish us with lumber to construct our simple nests

And provide us with a shady spot to stop and take a rest. 


In many ways wouldn’t it’d be grand if everyone could be

More welcoming, and giving...just like our friend the tree.


Perhaps it is the fact they give without making any demands

That makes me sad for Claudia now that her oak no longer stands.


Poems are made by fools, he said, but only God can make a tree.

And after reading this I’m sure with Mr. Kilmer you’d agree...




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Old School

I grew up in Twinsburg, Ohio I was born in ’52

And like the Old School I attended I’ve gotten older too


You might say our structure’s dilapidated and perhaps with age we’ve slowed

Some people might even make the assessment that we’re not up to code.


We might not have the same energy as we did when we were kids

And you can bet our plumbing doesn’t work as good as it once did.


Just look in any mirror and you’re stuck with the sensation

That our structure has some wrinkles and our roof needs renovation.


Although our exteriors may not have stayed pristine, and fresh and polished

There is not a one of us, just ask, who’s ready to be demolished!


The Old School I attended in my wonderful little town

Is a lot like me, but the city now, wants to tear her down.


The city’s planning director thinks the Old School has past it’s prime

To preserve this 92 year old building is too costly a paradigm.


It’s funny but many people travel to Europe just to see

The old and ancient buildings and be part of history.


But here in our own country, in our cities, burgs and towns

Since it costs too much to preserve them we’d rather tear them down.


My vote if for the Old School to undergo a preservation

So she will stand as a monument to future generations.


To relish those memories we had when we were girls and boys

And preserve them for our children and their children to enjoy.


For there’s more to this old building than all it’s defects to be mended

You see the history of the Old School lies in the people who attended.


We may not all be famous alumni...but do not, my friends, be fooled

We are who we are today because of our Old Schools!


So be mindful all you cities when these vestiges of our past you take


It’s not just the building you’ve destroyed, it’s your own history you forsake.

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2 knives, in each side..
2 eyes burning through my heart..
empty fragments, words drifting in & out of the past
memories turn to ash as we sift them around the palms of our hands..
crippled & gone.. time to move on.
to solidify my dreams..
hate myself.. waste of space, waste of air..
I dove into hell.
God please pull me back together, stitch up these ripped seams..


you're like the blade dragged across my stomach
or the scorching flame against my bare skin...
I want you out of my life
I want you up from under this skin
demons, demons, I can't let you win..
for I am not your kin...


everthing I want, I cannot have.
all that I reach for, I cannot grab..
the rainest of days bring me back to visions i've attempted to smudge out with you..
I guess it was easier on the other end.
but who's to say where & when...


covered in blood, pushed into the mud, I will stand up again.
open scars, out of breath, I must remain relentless.
shadows chasing me, run run, but they consumed all the light..
crouched in fright, nails dug into my back
they're trying to pin down these wings...
hoping i'll never take flight.
using all my energy to break away, fight them off with all my might, all my will...
but they keep whispering "kill... kill.."


legion, you've defiled me,
for you are the fallen, in unity.
this cross lays heavy on my back..
I think i'm starting to crack.
my barriers are thin & I wish I could let God in
but there's just one set of footprints in the sand
no savior to hold my hand
freezing cold.
the ocean looks like a black hole..
if I were to set sail, how could I ever return?
i'd be spun around in circles, triangles, squares
what would I learn?


even though the sun still shines
even though some of the grass is still green
even though there are plenty of trees
I cant stop looking down.. down on me.
the hail is sharp from this dark cloud.
storm hovers above.
I try to clear it out, but I can't with no love


depleted but not empty
awakened in the midst of deep sleep
dead in this life
strife impailed
left hung, waiting to burn..
I never dug my own grave
I only ever cried to be saved.

An unfinished work of art

Yesterday an old friend of mine posted wedding pictures on Facebook

A young couple and their wedding I thought I’d take a look.


Turns out I was in their wedding and though I don’t remember the exact date

They’ve been married 40 congratulations Greg and Kate.


40 years together you two deserve to celebrate

And knowing Greg like I do, my hat is off to Kate.


The years have been a little tough on Greg, but Kate this you should know

You’re as beautiful today as you were those 40 years ago!


Of course with Greg around I’m sure you’re aware of that

Perhaps it’s being married to him....but my was that hat!


When I first saw those wedding pictures I had to look again

That can’t be me I thought to myself I have hair and I’m so thin.


And I can’t believe I ever wore a tux that bold and loud

Why, as Beth so kindly pointed out, I’d make John Denver proud.


We all grew up together and though our paths split us apart

I’ve looked upon your marriage as an unfinished work of art.


There is beauty in the old photographs it certainly does appear

But the life you’ve painted together grows more beautiful each year.


You’ve taken that initial painting and brushed in family and friends

And there’s no telling where or when your masterpiece will end.


May you last another 40 years and here’s a thought I must impart

The beauty of your marriage is in your unfinished work of art.



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