Growing Pains: September 2019-December 2022

By Lewis Hale

Lewis Hale's "Growing Pains" is more than just a collection of poems; it's a heartfelt chronicle of self-discovery and personal growth. Authored over a span of four years, this compilation delves into the profound and the everyday, revealing Hale's quest for both a unique poetic voice and a deeper understanding of life's ordinary moments.

This intimate journey captures Hale's personal highs and lows, reflecting his evolution as a poet and an individual. It is a raw, honest exploration of self, shedding light on the pressures of conforming to expectations and the liberating experience of finding one's unique voice. With "Growing Pains", Hale hopes to connect with readers, sharing his experiences in a relatable way and offering comfort to those who may feel alone. Embark on this journey of introspection, self-discovery, and emotional growth through the nuanced lens of poetry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350915655

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© 2023 Lewis Hale. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 979-8-35091-564-8 paperback

ISBN: 979-8-35091-565-5 ebook

Poems

Twelve Months, A Lifetime

Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Enamored With the Shape of You

The Banner Raised Again

Twelve Months, A Lifetime

(Sep 2019 - Aug 2020)

How Cruel Time is

How Quick Things Change

6:53 PM:

Slowly, the little hand clicks ‘round,

Rapidly, the drum in my chest plays.

I’d love the wrens just roosted,

Can’t help wait for the rooster’s crow.

I wish night’d hasten by my window,

Taking today afar.

That day’d brighten up my room,

Bringing tomorrow near.

Spring Planting:

At last, the sun rises, ending an arduous night,

Today finally dawns, resting a grueling season.

Each new dawn, closer to spring,

Every sunrise, a step from winter.

Winter’s dusk, a time for growth,

Spring’s dawn, a chance for planting.

Whether an annual: fleetingly gorgeous, dead in a year,

Or a perennial: enduringly beautiful, alive an eternity.

What Am I:

Caught up in something tragic again?

Trying to chase the moon once more?

These feelings just reverie?

The moments merely fantasy?

Thinking more than I would say,

Saying less than I would need.

Continuing this way again,

Will I miss yet another chance?

Will I yet again choose the nest?

Refusing to fly freed in the sky?

Who am I choosing to stay here?

What is a dove if it were to never fly?

Whether comfort, safety, and the norm,

Or unease, freedom, and the exceptional.

How much longer will I stay?

What point will I choose to fly?

A path to attain life,

A course to meet joy,

Only by the first leap.

Birds, to sail and warble,

I, to fly and sing.

The wind could not be stronger,

The weather could not be clearer.

To not jump soon,

To not fly now,

This chance not come again.

Magnolia:

Flowers only bloom

Blossoms only open

With weather just so.

With sky this bright

And sun this clear

Why remain closed off?

The flower stay masked

The beauty stay hidden

Deep within sepal folds

Winter won’t end…

Spring shan’t begin…

Till first blooms open

Right, the time,

Perfect, the weather.

To never blossom,

And waste in winter.

To finally bloom,

And revel in spring.

Hindsight:

Excitement, the thrill

The joy in succeeding

But what of failing?

Surges of happiness

The sense of pride

But what of the fear before?

Confidence’s blooming

That bright, broad grin

But what of the heart fluttering?

How important the order is,

In hindsight, all made clear.

Exhilaration to justify the pain

Circular Questions:

Never to ask,

Never to know:

To never rise,

To never breathe,

To never live.

To never ask,

Then to never live.

21 Years, No, 9 Months:

Always harder, the first

Forever easier, the second.

Once the motion started

Momentum carries for years.

But only once first begun,

Will the following be easy.

But how to set out running

When refusing to budge.

One cannot learn to run,

Without first learning to fall.

Yet does every chance taken,

Start with collapsing again?

Thinking about it more

Only delays the necessary.

To only think about running,

To finally seize the moment.

5:23 AM:

Hardwood floorboards creak softly,

The old house settling on its foundation.

The clock, yet to ring,

The sun, yet to rise.

But I know the day’s already begun.

Before I’d even opened my eyes

Before I’d even left my dreams,

My day had already started.

In essence it began yesterday,

In reality it started a week ago.

Ever since yesterday I’ve been worrying,

Though last week I’d been wondering.

Last week and yesterday,

I spoke only words.

Today and next week,

I speak only my heart.

Such what I hope,

Ever what I desire.

My hands,

In weeks past, the potter’s

In days present, the drunk’s.

My stomach,

Once filled with comfort for today

Now empty with doubt for tomorrow.

Long Night:

Were the efforts what truly mattered,

Were failures only the beginning,

Where should I be now?

In speaking my mind now,

When all winds carry me there

Is it possible to go off course?

I’d stand losing nothing in failure,

I’d chance gaining all in winning.

Though now, my mind wanders…

Losing nothing in failure,

Gaining all in success.

Then why push for more,

Save but to prove myself?

Truth be now, I’ll never know.

It’ll only be clear in hindsight.

I won’t know until the chance’s taken,

To take that gamble...all I can do.

Lost?

The moment lost forever?

The sun set once more?

Have I lost my time again?

Perhaps the moment still lingers,

Perhaps the sun rises again.

Will I find my chance anew?

Here in the present,

No hope to judge tomorrow.

There in the future,

A moment to appreciate today.

Spring’s Arrival:

Winter has departed,

Spring has arrived.

Gone, the cool gray shades,

Here, the warm blue hues.

Returning home with triumphant sound

Songbirds declare Spring’s return.

The Dam:

Behind thick concrete walls

Grows an overwhelming deluge.

A facade once serene and still,

A surface now troubled and stirred.

Iron bones to withstand,

Concrete skin to retain.

Now put fully to the test

By a web of cracks at the base.

Neither damaging to the exterior,

Nor traumatizing to the interior.

Yet just enough breadth,

For a small trickle of water.

Slow and steady, the drips escape

Coming in droplets at first

Then…a torrential downpour.

The Goldfinch’s Song:

Monday, preceding as the norm.

All mourning weekend’s loss

But today, more than usual.

Desolate vacancy in the café,

Dreary emptiness in the city.

Steady drops from clouded skies,

As though Heaven weeps with us.

Yet outside my window, a goldfinch

Singing that all might hear.

But the song is far from remorse.

Soft and mournful, the clouds drift,

Quiet and hollow, the city broods,

Mute and lonely, the streets abide.

Happily, though, she sings her song.

Not one of today’s sad gray,

But of the glad azure to come.

Though she’s trouble staying dry,

Her friends stowed away safely,

And she bound to this tree.

In a concrete jungle drenched

With creation’s baleful tears.

Unable to stretch out her wings,

And fly where she would wish.

She proudly continues her song.

For while others will see

A bleak world bathed in sorrow,

She sees only divine mercy,

Washing away the world’s