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They love

Once I met a plagiarist who took my words, and for many years I refused to write poetry. It was heartbreaking, a thief, already rich would steal from a young homeless girl. When I’d learned of his deception, I threw away most of my compiled words. I didn’t want any thieves to have access to any more of my creations.  I did save one poem I had titled “The Eden.” I’d felt God would be unhappy with me if I would toss it away. I am glad I saved it!



What holy place is this?
Is it not built on grace?
The trees, so full and ripe.
The wind’s a warm embrace.
I see the sky – clear blue,
And Oh!, the pure white clouds.
The grass, so green and plush.
Where is this I have found?
Those lolling hills I see,
Beside great gentle seas.
Vast fields, with vibrant flowers.
A warm breeze, passing me.
Gentle animals abound,
They nuzzle my hand long.
What friends these creatures be,
Harmonious as song!
Here, true purity,
That I see.
But stranger yet,
No man there be!!!

On February 22, 1991, my father died. I was living in Windsor, Ontario in adjoining hotel rooms with my son who would turn 15 in April. We had fled from St. Catharines, Ontario where I had experienced some horrible things. St. Catharines is another story for me to blog on another day.
My son had gone to classes at his Secondary School, and I was sitting alone in my room at the Royal Windsor Hotel. I was feeling sad, helpless and useless. My son and his need for his mom was all that was grounding me. I otherwise felt no need for my existence. Yes, I did have those horrible thoughts.
I had, some months before lost my love. I couldn’t, and still cannot understand why he’d gone. He’d seemed to love me as dearly as I loved him. Life can be beyond odd sometimes.
I’d fallen asleep and dreamed of God, or a mighty beautiful Angel, delivering a message to me. His message was, “Things were taken from you, rejoice instead as so many around the world have fallen in love hearing your messages. Is it so important to you that everyone should know the gift originated with you? I ask you then, should you give up this gift given to you in defiance simply because of the evil of another? Is that not self-defeating? Rejoice instead!” I woke, still angry. That emotion is hard to shake. I did leave my bed though to sit at the desk and find both paper and pen to write. A few days later I found a small red-bound book in the department store to record my poems.
A couple of years later my son Carlos and I moved to an apartment on Ottawa Street above a restaurant. We rescued a beautiful dog, in the morning she was headed for the pound. I was confident she would have been put down. The dog was beyond frisky, and her original family believed she would not be trainable.
I couldn’t let that dog go. I had sat on the sofa, and that puppy jumped on my lap and wrapped dog arms around my neck! Now, you tell me, could you let such a loving creature go to her death for the mere ‘crime’ of hyperactivity?
Phoenix, as they had named her, and the name we chose to keep for her proved to be a fantastic pet. She had her faults, like chewing everything from our shoes, my son’s Nintendo paddles, my Bible and my little red book!

Red book

Phoenix’s charms far outweighed her bad habits though. I loved taking her for walks. Nobody dared to get close, and it was safe to walk late at night in the park. If she got bad vibes from anyone approaching her wolf growl sent them hurriedly away! Her vet told me she was part wolf and it was very apparent to people who had seen wolves. Wolves run differently than dogs. If you get a chance to see videos of wolves running in the wild, you will understand how unmistakably her gait was that of a wolf.

Toronto Island

A photo of Phoenix in her heyday as she bounded across the beach of Toronto Island with Carlos. On one occasion a man yelled at me from across the street, “It isn’t legal to keep a wolf as a pet.”
Five days after Carlos’ 21st birthday he moved to Toronto. Phoenix, who’d bonded closer with him, chose also to move to Toronto. Dogs will select their master!
Her fur turned grey with age, and we sadly watched her once boundless energy sap away from cancer. I still love that girl. Yesterday I stumbled upon the little red book while I searched the bookcase for my photo albums. Although I had plans to write a different story, in memory of Phoenix, I chose instead to share the first poem I’d written after the dream.
The poem is about a man who had never believed love could be real. He’d made his way through many lovers, and each had been disposable as another girl was always just around the corner. He told me his love for me was unique, that I was his only and I believed him. I’d never loved anyone the way I loved him. One day he quietly left, and I never saw him again. I wrote the poem, still hoping then he’d find his way back to me. He never did.

They love

They Love
A grown man, and still
He’d viewed love as wry
To his needs, until now when
Few grey hairs would ply
Upon his forehead, and the truth
Of love could cause his cry
In honest tears that slid on
Cheeks accustomed to the dry
He sat there in confusion of
Experience that was breaching
Upon parts inside himself
He’d believed beyond reaching
For certainly they’d never been
As none thought need for teaching
Of love to him, as definitely
It would be as they were preaching
Yes, preaching as the minister
When they believed his hand
Must have waved through love
Many times, as sifting in sand
For hadn’t he done his share
Of travel from land to land
True, too, they were assured
To him – love must be bland
While he recalled her smile
For he knew she had possessed
The love he’d always waited for
(If only to himself confessed)
He remembered how she took
Pleasure when her hand caressed
While it had pleasured him
To feel as if he’d regressed
Exactly! Back into a time
When innocence was everything
Where old songs had sounded
Silly, even though he’d sing
To see a girl smile and lounge
Beside him in trust he’d bring
Reality to her girlish longings
In something, in shape of ring
Now he sat back into this time
To realize he’d wandered away
From the only love he’d known
As it was the habitual way
For him to do so, as he’d done
To the other girls, for to stay
Would be new, yet, she was
His own, he knew to pray
While she sits in wish to say
To him, love’s without doubt
Faith, my darling, is truth
Believe believe the turn about
Will come when you come back
Not as to beg or bringing pout
For his smile is gift enough
Come again for love to shout
In proclamation that love
Is everything! As olden songs
Had claimed, and, they’d example
For others that all the wrongs
Were in deeming the simplicity
Of love as weak, when the strong
In love, are the eternal bonds
That provide the feelings of belongs
For while he sits with silent tea
She awaits his love to return
To her again, while he again
Would fill the space of yearn
That’s open in him, as in her
True, they’d then cause the learn
To others who were as them
Once, before love brought concern

© 2016 Zora Zebic