Poem: Lauranelle -“Living the Story”

 Please Listen Below: 

The story of our lives, it’s never over,

Until we breathe our last, we keep building.

Transitions experienced, life a changeover.

Loved ones grow, develop; our lives overfilling,

Hoping you experience, best of times; your story,

Ever-glowing, phenomenon thrilling.

Praying your lives keep moving, with pose; glory.

Even in the darkest times, search for light.

Live through each of life’s interesting short stories.

In the long road run, your epic takes flight.

No, life is not one or two, short stories formed.

Life the story, keeps changing; keep fighting.

At times, you must overcome frightening storms,

You must battle through blood; strike through the gore.

But there’s reasons you’re you, why you were born.

Lessons to be learned; experience fought for.

Life means continually rebuilding.

Worry not, when you fall; God rescues you before —

The waves pull you out, and drown you in salt —

Water takes away; it gives too, no fault.

The story of our lives, it’s never over,

Until we breathe our last, we keep building.

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

7 thoughts on “Poem: Lauranelle -“Living the Story””

  1. In the long road run, your epic takes flight.

    This line gives me much to think about. There’s taking flight as in going away. There’s taking flight that soars above in a kind of fulfillment. Life can go so many ways. You address those ways effectively here.

    In a recent poem posted, you place two words near each other: precious, cold. I got interrupted while I was drafting a response. But I’ve thought a great deal about those words in proximity. Something that is both precious and cold must be remarkable and perilous.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Christopher. Thanks again for the reads on both poems and your comments. Yeah eventually we need to fly, do what we need, pursue a life of whatever we feel we want or are called to be.

      The “Silver and Gold” poem you are referring to and the line, caught me as well. But I knew it was right when I wrote it. If you think of solid precious metals. Say a gold Oscar or a statue or object in some museum. It doesn’t hold heat well. It’s precious because it’s valuable monetarily, but cold because metals don’t hold heat.

      On a deeper level, people are often cold. When we first meet them, they maybe closed off and not open. But often it takes time to get to know them.

      Even though the person is closed off, we may try to get to know them more, whether to be friend or more. It’s a bit of work asking questions and slowly working your way past the cold; yet one still sees value and worth in this person, perhaps, something one could even describe as precious if you’re falling for them.

      In the poem, the loved one is cold, but the speaker finds him/her precious anyways. Knowing beneath there is more.

      Thanks again.


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