oh! these notes of love
written with invisible ink
travel through time and space
searching out the heart that might
have the eyes to read
what is etched upon my soul
Tag: inspiration
just an echo
empty halls at dawn echo thoughts
back to my heart like a drum
pounding into place all that was
left behind…
sound bouncing off bare walls
these feelings that hover in the distant
places of my soul
would that i grab them in my hand
and within my palm hold them
close so as to understand how they
became just an echo
slow roam of memory
slow roam of memory
floating on an endless sea
bobbing aimless and lonesome-
lost to the moonswept tides
and windy breeze
these wanderings
not empty but void of depth;
voiceless and lacking solvency
oh! that these small specks of remembrance
might swell into a vessel that might
bring back what’s lost to me!
adrift at sea
my heart cannot find
the hope that lies hidden
within the ramblings of forgotten time
and though I search the vestiges of
my mind to materialize what’s been lost
there’s no hiding the unseen loss
of this vacancy
long halls of time
voices hang in the air
flowing over breeze, making their
way back to me;
words i would long to hear
from long ago…
echoes of a past not mine
but somehow left in my memory…
and though your arms no longer
hold me- i can still hear your
whispering through the long
halls of time
harkening me backwards
fire of my eternity
the afternoon sun warms my foot as
my heel bobs up and down,
uncomfortably,
memory finds its way forward-
past moving through time
slow like sludge…. so begrudgingly…
small bits of a puzzle fit together
to form a larger picture of me…
and yet, I hate this digging
into history; would that I remain
stuck here in present frame
to suffer in darkness than to shed
light onto such lunacy and pain…
yet- to survive into an unknown
future the puzzle must complete
and when it does- i will burn it-
releasing all that was stored into
the ether… oh to shed the skin of
what was and be reborn!
so I sit with my own hot past
shaking, biting and scratching memories
out of the darkness and into the light
so I can fit them together
and let them go into the fire of my
eternity…
day of reckoning
there is nothing left to give
of myself… utterly drained
and driven to distraction
i wish it were not today
this day of reckoning that comes
with such brutal constancy
for my heart is tired
and my mind is spinning
and my soul feels worn like
a flag left out too many winters…
this heat is draining any remnant
of sanity that i may still possess
and still… i will go to this destiny
as appointed, to relive the pain that
resides within the hidden closets
of my memory
cruel illusion
i fear that I would wander the world
looking for that which already
lingers within me, afraid that
what is housed in my heart is
not enough to sustain love…
even as the sun shines
and the moon shines
i would question this because
darkness is a cruel illusion
that enters as friend and never leaves
oh! my cruel friend turned master
what would you have me do but feed
your emptiness with more of me?
what will be left of me?
songbirds weave a tapestry of
sound across the morning
as sunlight penetrates the leaves…
a cool breeze lightly tiptoes across
the growing heat
and cars sound as ocean waves flowing…
in the distance dancing with birds are
the trees-
and sirens pepper the landscape
with urgency…
day is breaking on yet another morning-
breath flows within me like a sage
i am no longer living
but rather coming of age…
is there anything that can dull the pain
of slowly dying? at this rate
i will be gone before the songbirds
finish singing
and what will be left of me?
would you go mad?
if we were all quiet,
just for a moment, the world
silenced… no words…no sound-
save that indescribable
white noise of buzzing energy…
would we hear the call of
our soul from within the ether,
and but for a moment,
find within it our own song
that might make clear our purpose
and release the banter that
drives us so to distraction?
or would we suffer at the empty
silence, grasping at the air for
release from the pain of nothingness
that would grip the heart, stripping it of
that which keeps blood flowing?
if but for within that single moment
when the world shut down all sound
would we find ourselves or
go extremely mad?
pricked and beautiful
spent time in my garden
now my hands are lined
with marks from thorns-
roses and raspberries
red and bleeding,
tracks left from nature’s
mighty protection …
i feel the lingering pain
and think of my heart throbbing
shredded and raw like my hands
from the love you gave me-
pricked and beautiful-
but so hurtful
the SIBYL'S SONG 