Poetry
Many young writers begin with poetry. I’m one of them. When I was 12 years old, all things simple became complicated. I was starting to wake up to the unexplainable mysteries of life. So I turned to poetry.
I hope to summon the courage to collect and post some of my poems in the not too distant future. For now, I want to leave you with two poems written by my mother, Wendy Lauren Moloshco. I had no idea she’d written them until I was going through her papers after her untimely death at age 74, and they touched me very deeply. They’re dated February 8, 1971, shortly after my father announced he wanted a divorce and moved out. The pain is palpable, but she never lost hope, laying bare her feelings on friendship and love:
On Friendship
What makes life worth living
When nothing’s going right?
When your world falls to pieces
And you’re crying in the night?
The fact that someone really cares
And just holds out a hand
In wordless sympathy and love
That says, “I understand.”
There’s nothing in this world so rare
Or beautiful to see
Than true friendship, sweet and pure
And offered selflessly.
On Love
Times are changing, life goes by
Love passes fleetingly
A touch, a glance, an interlude
I feel life cheating me.
I have so deep a love to give
A faithfulness so true
A promise of eternity
My heart and soul for YOU!
Whoever YOU are now
Or wherever YOU may be
I know you’re just around the bend
Waiting there for me.
I have no doubt that someday
I’ll look into YOUR eyes
And know that I at last have found
A love that fills the skies --
That sees us walking hand in hand
Through laughter and through tears
That sees the two of us as one
For life’s remaining years.
My mother’s hope and optimism became her reality when she met the man who became my stepfather and held her hand for the last 37 wonderful years of her life.
Life throws all of us curves here and there. Some more painful than others. But hopes and dreams really can come true, and often arise from those very curves and that very pain, as did my mother’s beautiful poems.