The battle

Shall we be forever dancing to the marching of the beat

Shall we forever be chasing for something else to eat?

In the beginning she had thought that everyone was out to get her. The anger in her bones would seep into her skin making her too hot to touch. She was in competition with herself.

The sweetness of her sorrow only seemed to make her worse. Had she forgotten where she came from? Who were her friends. Who were her enemies?

She had been through the mill and left in pieces. That was not an excuse though her mother had told her. Her father, in his silence, spoke volumes. One look and she knew whether she was in favour or not.

Her friends scolded her. 'This life is short' they'd say, make the most of it. During one of her manic phases she had tried to do everything. It was as if she had a God complex and had to prove herself every minute of the day. Something had to give.

The flat was a mess and that was what had to give. The perfect mother? I think not. Yet she had improved in other ways. Her heart was now more tender. Where there had been flint in her eye, there now fluttered eyelashes ready for attention.

She wore tinsel round her neck and always had a Christmas tree up in the flat. Although they were only mini they served their purpose. In her mind she had made it and the riches of heaven would fall upon her. For they were the only ones that counted and she knew it.

As you age and flesh falls away, you convince yourself that you've still got it, but the little foxes come along and ruin the vineyards. With their shiny shoes and new fast ways, they break down the old and push right on through, chucking out the old.

Why can't we just live alongside ourselves, together, hand in hand? Why are we always at war with ourselves and others?

The battle to live on our road from rags to riches never stops. The bright bitterness of hope never ceases to amuse all as we make and fake our way to the top.

As long as your'e not alone when you get there. That's the real result. My friends father recently passed away and was surrounded by family. That was all I had to her. To be gathered by his bedside in the last moments is testament to the love and support that anyone can give a person.

You just have to be needed in some way, else you fade away. That someone will miss you is the reason for the season. The depth of feelings only serve to make the emotions more real and lasting. Let us never be forgotten- no matter how long it takes.

Him

She thought about him everyday. Did he think about her? Deep wounds, deep wounds. The scars in her heart had cosmetically healed but it had not been a happy ever after. Greedy for more they had left each other. In their folly they had paid the price of the near forgotten. 'There's plenty of fish in the sea' her friends had said- but that peculiar one had suited her so well that she did not want to search for another.

Art

Her art comforted her in times of trouble like these. It had sometimes paid and sometimes it had not. She wanted her work to come alive like all beautiful children, gifts that they are, and to jump through the page. Alone with herself, she had to keep totally occupied else she would drown in her grief.

Friends

'Pray for me' Ruth had said in a quiet fashion. Her face had dropped and her head bowed low. The feeling had been passed on from woman to woman and silence was kept. that was all we could do on the bus.

The club

She joined various groups and tried to keep her pecker up. The business of her life kept her going- never slowing. Other people became her priority as others lived off of her and she lived off of others. This dance, this merry dance that never stopped floated her along like a river. As long as she did not drown in the forthcoming deluge.

For the love

The passion. The feeling. The mood. How the memories of madness had cajoled her in their kindness. She had been preserved, for whatever reason. She had been seasoned. She attended her morning prayers when she could even though the verger had commented if she had had anything better to do. That had made her laugh. A rich deep laugh from the bottom of her lungs - that had echoed in the church.

The riches

Even when you do not give birth to a child you are still a parent. Even when they say that you are too posh to push - it's still everyone's responsibility. Those are the riches, not diamonds or jewels. The people are. This planet is.

The rags

They make up the riches