grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead

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grief is the proof that love connects the living to the dead
by Valerie Parente


We live in 3 dimensions
but we die into more.
It feels like loved ones “have been”
but my dear, they still occur.
You have been trained to feel saddened
because you can’t see them anymore
but that’s the living’s misconception,
the dead are still here, in a different form.
We struggled for a definition
so we came up with a new word,
called it “grief”, but it’s really “connection”
to a state beyond this world.

– Valerie Parente (8-4-2023)

Thorns

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Thorns by Valerie Parente

Thorns,
wringing my neck
hijacking my own prose
and taking my own breath.

Thorns,
tangled with my veins
I long to protect
the thing that constrains.

Thorns,
why do I wear them proud
as if their scratches
make me profound.

Thorns,
mistaken for a preference
I say I’m comfortable with them
but the discomfort is ever present.

Thorns,
such a cruel joke
because my favorite flower
has always been a rose.

Afraid To Fly

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Afraid To Fly by Valerie Parente

I have these wings
but I’m too scared to fly
so I pluck out each feather
off my arched spine.
I whisper to them,
“You can never be mine,”
as I rip each feather out
then cross my heart and hope to hide.
I’ve always been cautious
too conscientious to try,
I don’t throw caution to the wind
I throw potential aside.
But these wings always grew back
and I started to realize
every time I crossed my heart
you began to cross my mind.
I was scared to death
when I let the wings reside
but I’ll tell you this
I no longer fear the sky.
They say wings belong to angels
but maybe it’s time
to accept I am the savior
who will answer my own cries.

– Valerie Parente (7-14-2023)

Ravenheart: These Veins Are Not In Vain (A Fantasy Chronicle)

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Ravenheart:
These Veins Are Not In Vain (A Fantasy Chronicle)
by Valerie Parente

The veins on her hands
like trees with no leaves
black and branching out
along her anatomy.

That ravenheart pumped,
her sanctum of midnight,
filtering the darkness
in the dead of the night.

It only hurts a little
to be made of this blood
she got used to the pain
and the love it’s made of.

She looks to her veins
and knows they’re not in vain
because with these hands
she learned to create.

Since her birth in the thunder
she whispered before her slumber
a promise the shadows bid unto her
these words of ancient scripture,
“Take this black hole
and make it whole
feed that world
no others know.
Use great stress
to create great depth
and with this alchemy
you destroy fear of death.”

– Valerie Parente (6-9-2023)

Stony Brook

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Stony Brook by Valerie Parente

Words about my self are so cold
because this conscious stream is frozen.
I’m making faces under the surface
in the name of what’s unspoken.

I questioned life on solid ground,
but I never stood a chance
at clinging to the rocks
that blistered my own hands.

Underneath the ice I laid on
was an isolation I schemed
where I was swept away by the current
as the current swept by me.

I still cross that stony brook
but I know better this time
holding my own breath
in a space so traumatized.

– Valerie Parente (5-26-2023)

Her

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Her by Valerie Parente

You never knew her
You knew of her
And the way
She played with fire
Just like every
Woman prior
Who learned the hard way
To be the wiser
Against the system
That would conspire
To dim the light
From her lighter.
A scarlet red
She is a fighter
Among the flames
She has grown brighter.

– Valerie Parente (5-21-2023)