Oh, it’s on!

I love Gavin. I’m blessed to be his father. I don’t understand how a parent could have the capacity to not love their child. And yet, so many don’t. And so many do. I’m in the ‘do’ category. I always knew I wanted to be a father. And bam! Here I am! And there he is. Looking rather serious and daring me to sink his battleship.

The doctor told my wife to call her when she starts to bleed. We had already lost one. I held on to Faith- Tell life it can’t. Gavin wasn’t supposed to be born. So we were told. Somehow Megan and I suffered a bit more though. Megan nearly died during an ectopic rupture when Gavin was nearly two years old.

Megan lived. Gavin lived. I’m trying my best to live.

Gavin won. In so many ways.

-Matt

Gavin is five. Not sure about his soul though.

7 Reasons to Write

Because we’re not perfect and we should see what that looks like in written form-

We all have the same words at our disposal and it’s intriguing to see how we use them so differently-

You may find hidden attributes within your personality-

Creation of words written into phrases or stories may put into motion action for yourself and possibly others-

It’s good for the heart, mind and soul-

If you don’t, these words will chase you-

As Emily Dickinson once wrote, ‘Your thoughts don’t have words every day’ and when they do, I think we ought to write them down-

-M. Taggart

(OWO 3/10/15)

Poem – Sunday

Sunday mornings lighten the heart.
It wasn’t always like this,
but has somehow found itself
nestled in place with the morning dew
and first glimpse of sunrise.
Through the New England mountains,
covered in forests, and lined with old rock walls
long ago forgotten and found again;
like a palpitating mind, not full of fear,
but of growth and hunger having transferred
any heaviness of chest to logic of the mind.

-M. Taggart

Good morning, everyone.

Odd Walking Thoughts

 

The frog hopped along walking sideways with thoughts, asking the young boy to please share his, ‘it wasn’t me. i’m not much anyway, but if i were, it wouldn’t matter.’ the frog stopped hopping, ‘what matters is you. you don’t know this yet. i pray you will.’ the boy stepped along remembering. always remembering.

-M. Taggart

Poem

A heart’s twisted realization
may lie within the mirror
it most often views.
As it sits without sound
accepting lusting pangs
of curious voyeurism,
feeling that maybe,
just maybe,
this will be enough.

-M. Taggart

Odd Walking Thoughts

Some tear hearts to watch them bleed.
They are weak, simple minded, Focused on only what they know.
It’s the hurt of the health that stands to walk again which leaves them in graves wishing forgiveness.

 

-M. Taggart

Sent from my iPhone