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    If
    If
    If
    Ebook194 pages56 minutes

    If

    By Eric Visconti

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    About this ebook

    If is the most powerful word known to humankind, no matter what language is being considered. If is the distance between the impossible and possible, and if is the key to making all things possible. If is my second book of poetry exploring this concept in life, and the great things that can happen when we ask the question and pursue the answer.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLulu.com
    Release dateMay 3, 2019
    ISBN9780359628070
    If

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      Book preview

      If - Eric Visconti

      If

      If

      By Eric Visconti

      Preface

      In this second collection of poetry I have written, I explore what I consider to be the most powerful concept that ties together the forces of faith and will.  If is the perfect expression of possibilities.  These are possibilities that can not be realized without the will to continue.  If another step is not made, could the end of the path be seen? If the ruler whom asked Jesus to heal his daughter believed only the servant’s report that his daughter had died, would she have been dead upon his return home?  Instead the ruler chose to believe Jesus when he said, Do not fear, only believe. (Mark 5:36).  Sometimes there are circumstances where there is no choice of words or actions.  Even then we have the power to decide how we will walk down that path and do or say what we must.  Yet all the difference in the world can be made by each and everyone of us, even in the simplest of things, by considering the power of If. 

      Chapter 1 - Reaching Out

      This next selection of poems starting with Fly With Me was written with a very specific purpose.  From my wife’s exploration of information on the internet I learned of a special person named Eva Markvoort.  Eva was terminal with Cystic Fibrosis.   She thought, if she used her time to lift up and support others fighting her same battle then her fight would not be in vain.  She started a blog called 65 Redroses and reached many people.  I realized Eva was with family, but asked myself what I could do.  I found the hospital where she was, and began to write and send poetry to her via a patient Well Wishes service.  Eva eventually died, but I did receive feedback from the service staff that the poetry was being read daily.  Who knows, what if I gave her some of the strength I she needed at that time?  There would have been no chance if I did not try.  There is a film called 65 Redroses which tells her story, and I encourage readers to find it.  It is to this courageous young woman living an example of love that these poems are forever dedicated to. 

      Storm Surge

      Against dark and sullen skies,

      White seagulls pass in flight,

      The wind stirs deep felt wrath,

      A force is awakening,

      Nature is preparing,

      The waters churn in anxiety,

      Wave crests foam white in fear,

      Creatures of the air find shelter,

      As the first drops of rain,

      Show the sign of coming pain,

      For the great storm begins to near.

      The sea level rises in anger,

      To hammer the great shore,

      Wave after wave of power,

      Rising through the hours,

      As the chill begins to deepen,

      Sign of immeasurable depth,

      Winds rise to seek their prize,

      Impairing all who could see,

      Releasing fearful power,

      With a quickening pulse,

      Nothing is left to surmise.

      The storm brings pain to the shore,

      Yet pain is a sign of life,

      A mark of change and growth,

      As strong currents clear the waters,

      As the winds clean the sand,

      The power of change recycles,

      As it is with life’s great plan,

      In the design of the great mind,

      The impact is strong,

      Making all finer and pure,

      For change is the constant of life.

      It is the storm that rearranges,

      For pain is not one with evil,

      Difficulty is not darkness,

      Yet the beauty of life,

      Is designed with such grace,

      That darkness is used,

      To put light in its place,

      The beacon in the dark,

      Draws us to the sunrise,

      Beacons shine through souls,

      Under the father’s loving eyes.

      Empty Chairs

      The place is remote,

      Surrounded by the sea,

      No one speaking,

      Not a human sound,

      Clean sandy streets,

      No footprint on the ground,

      People have not lived on Portsmouth,

      Vacated for many years,

      Yet buildings standing cared for,

      Homes as they were,

      Surrounded by the marshes,

      Facing the ocean,

      Facing the sound,

      Silence leads to the waves,

      The waters are all around,

      As I make my way to a porch,

      Upon an antique home,

      In the shade are rocking chairs,

      In the shade are empty chairs,

      What sounds have they heard?

      What stories could they tell?

      The mothers and fathers who were,

      Getting old in their ways,

      Never parting from each other,

      Getting old in their days,

      You can feel them sitting there,

      So I do not sit down,

      You can feel that they lived,

      The love is still there,

      The chairs are close together,

      As hands hold close in love,

      There is never a letting go,

      This truth I have come to know,

      It is as strong as kindred spirits,

      Staring into each other’s eyes,

      With a smile that defies any pain,

      This is never by chance,

      For I can feel them still present,

      They become part of me,

      They are with me in my place,

      They are alive in my heart,

      For the heart knows no bounds,

      The heart feels all sounds,

      Of laughter and pain,

      Loving alive and living again,

      There are many friends and family,

      Of which I no longer see,

      They have come and they have gone,

      To the place where all will be,

      All must feel this,

      It is inseparable from life,

      An empty place at a table,

      An vacant chair unused,

      All give testimony to this writer,

      Refusing to believe the illusion,

      Offered by my physical eyes,

      They are lies,

      For the truth is in my heart,

      Only the heart can truly see,

      And every life and love I have known,

      Resides within my being,

      They reside within our hearts,

      For our hearts have infinite space,

      And I grow in perspective,

      With each heart I have touched,

      Each heart that has touched mine,

      Sometimes without knowing,

      Yet true ever still,

      For if you

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