Poems by Ralph Quinonez

Dear Diary,

As I make my entry today, again I cry.
Never thought this love would be so complicated,
Never thought that life would be so cold.
I think about him every day,
Knowing he will never return to me.
My life would have been so complete with him,
Now I have to live a life without him.
Oh, what a lonely and empty life I have been given.
My life consists of only memories of him
And what our life could have played out to be.
Each day I go back to you, my diary,
And write my deepest thoughts on your pages.
Each day I go out into the world and know that nothing is going to change.
The only change that can happen is the change inside my heart.
I need to deal with the pain and the loss and move forward in my life.
The love I had was a gift,
And I need to place this in your pages, my dear diary.
My heart will one day heal,
My mind will one day live again.
           

G-is for the Gift that God has given to us.
R-is for the Righteousness he gave to guide us.
A-is for the Almighty God we love to serve.
C-is for the Cross he was on that set us free.
E-is for the Everlasting life he promises to us.

I didn't ask to be here,
but placed here for a reason.
The time that I spent, was only for a season.
Giving and sharing, is how I'm here to serve.
Loving and caring, myself was all reserved.
The journey I  was taking was all set as planned.
I'm really asking why,
I just don't understand.
The Faith I had in you,
only showed that I was weak.
The hope I have In you, will hold me as I sleep.
Broken is how I feel now,
As I continue in my life.
You set me on my this path, a mist in all the strife.
At my lowest point in life I really felt defeated.
I had more life to give,

It was a cold and frosty morning
in the heart of winter's breath,
when Joe and Thelma readied
for a life they had yet to meet.
The road to town was an hour long,
a ribbon through fields of white,
and this--child number eight--
kicked softly, urging them on.
Excitement hummed like lantern light
inside their weathered car,
for chores still waited back at home,
the farm still pulling at their sleeves.
But some things can't be delayed--
a baby comes when a baby must.
They left the others bundled tight,
small faces pressed to frosted glass,
watching their parents disappear
into the quiet afternoon.
And then--a boy was born
into a crowded, loving room,
a new voice added to a family
that stretched its arms around scarcity.
They were poor, though children seldom know
the labels adults learn to wear.
Hunger just meant smaller portions,
and love meant sharing anyway.
Only later do you come to understand
the weight your parents carried,
the way a winter morning
can shape a life forever--
born in cold, raised in warmth,
held together by a family
that had little,
yet somehow
always enough love .