If They Only Knew, Linda Morrison
If They Only Knew

If only they knew how the wind blows in the trees
and a soft whisper of ecstasy blows In the air.
If only they knew how to be surreal.
To open their minds and dream dreams of yearning and love.
If only they would listen to the soft drumming of hope which beats in their insides, longing for one thing, more powerful than the strength of any muscle well built.
If only they could feel the power which intimidates the body and soul and scares the laughs of liberty from the lungs leaving no breath left to spare.
If only they could feel what it’s like to have an aura of emptiness thrashing your insides.
To free itself of an eternity of isolation.
If only they could live a meaningful life,
taking pre-cautious steps, but allowing enough leverage to break and be free.
Free of madness and undeserving persons, shifting themselves into the world
without common sense, but with pride, and prejudice against others.
If only they knew that helping others is not something to be punished
but rather, rewarded and reprieved.
If only they knew that happiness is not something that comes and stays.
If only they knew that happiness is likely to take it’s bags,
quickly escape the depths of despair which removes it,
and go away; far away.
So far, that only a miracle could bring it back.
If only they knew that miracles do not go to the non-believers.
If only they knew that miracles travel to the persons less fortunate and less desirable. The ones who truly need that gracious blessing.
And, if only people could understand the importance of letting such miracles escape their bare burdened hands to go to the needy.
Then the world could know a little better how I feel
and how those like me feel.
How that imperativeness could be unchained and unraveled.
But for now,
All that’s left to say are words of wisdom, which will be withered by the time they are understood.
Withered like the hands of a woman with the life closing behind her.
If only they knew how the wind blows in the trees
and a soft whisper of ecstasy blows in the air under a tree as I write away my soul until the very end of time. 


Elizabeth Choat