Work In Progress

This is another poem I wrote many years ago as I was beginning my journey to self-awareness. A painful time, it was of some benefit to remind myself I was not the pain I bore, but caught only in the shadow of it. I began to think of myself as a work in progress. This made the nature of any discomfort more present and passing and far easier to bear.

Still does …

Work in Progress

I am a work in progress.
The canvas of my life
Stretches across the easel
Of time, anticipating each nurturing
Brush stroke by the Masterful Artist.

I am a landscape ~
An ever-unfolding vista of colours,
And shapes and light.
The shadows of clouds
Float in, and out,
Dispersed by bright sunshine,
Irreverent and true.

The Masterful Artist reveals
Mysterious patterns and
Miracles with a
Flick of the conscience, or
A long, deep stroke of thought.
The brush of a shadow ~
The sweep of radiant light ~
Depth to denote character,
And dappled sunlight to
Delight the soul.

The Masterful Artist’s strokes
Are sure, each measure
Of the art-child completed
In its time ~
Contemplated and recorded.
Mistakes are washed away,
Remembered no more.
Flaws are embraced to
Profess a perfectly natural appeal.

I am a landscape ~
Time rolls across my verdent fields,
Tickled by morning dew drops ~
Each tender blade of
Life reaching beyond
Tomorrow ~ to grow ~
To stretch toward the measure
Of its creation.

I am a work in progress.
The canvas of my life
Gradually reveals a story
Spun by the Masterful Artist.
I am a Masterpiece.


Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012



In this world of masks
The velvet whisper of
Truth is muffled in
Coarse shadows veiling
The face of life.
Far easier, it is, to hide
Behind a mask than
Abide one’s own truth.
With too many questions,
And too few answers
We march on blindly
And uneasily into
Territories not our
Own; and never to
Be our own.
So much more inviting
It is to be what we
Are not, than to discover
Who we really are.

Sometimes we choose
Our masks, but often
We do not;
Instead placed upon our care-
Worn faces by others
And circumstances,
And never really knowing why.

* * *

And what masks?
Pretense-driven self-
Effacing vices to keep
Out the kind ~ to
Deny feelings, to
Bolster ego and to
Hide our truths from
Others, and from

Pervades the masked
And as much as we
Believe no one sees, the
Opposite is true.
Truth always prevails,
In this world of masks.


I wrote this poem several years ago as I was starting down the road to finding my truth.

While stepping out from behind the mask has been, and still is, uncomfortable at times, I’d rather see my self in the mirror than the person others unwittingly created in their own image.

I am more than the survivor I’ve been. It’s my turn to thrive.

The journey continues …

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012


I see ghosts. They
Haunt me every single
Day. Drag me down a
Dark path; an old familiar
Way. Insisting that the
Past is where I need
To dwell, that the
Journey to the light is
Just another form
Of hell. “This is what
you know,” they
Whisper, “where you
Ought to be.” And I run
Screaming from their
Grasp. I want no
Part, you see.

But everyday they
Pester me, distract
Me from the
Light. Their misery
Wants my company,
To make their wrongs
Seem right. They
Say their way is
Easier; takes no
Effort; will be
Fine. But the price
To pay is far too
Steep — they want
Everything of mine.

So, everyday I
Struggle to show
Them to the
Door. Their presence
Isn’t welcome in
My attic anymore.
I’ll be no longer
Haunted by the
Pain they wish
To share, though I
Know they’ll keep
On trying since
I’m here and
They are there.


The ghosts of our past will never be faraway, but their influence on us, as we become attuned to our truth, will become less intense over time.

They may knock on the door to remind us they’re in the neighbourhood, but that doesn’t mean we have to let them in.

Just smile through the window … and wave them off. I don’t know about you, but I have better things to do than entertain a bunch of ghosts!

Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2011