mother mary visited me riding
on the wave of a sneeze that
didn’t come…
and i was swimming in a purple
sea…
whispers of faith, echoing-
time and space but figments
in my mind
i am both lost and found
when i walk this line
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burdens
would that i could cry tears of pain
from my soul
just to release the heavy water
that hangs my heart so low….
i would line the sky with thunder clouds
to let the heavens roar
and rain pour down- until this
sorrow was released
from the very depths of me…
Oh to be a cloud that could just let go-
these burdens- how they haunt me so
cold
cruel is not a strong enough word
for that which my heart finds
capable; some might call me
cold- though within this chest flows
something more than ice-
it’s an emptiness that cannot be
described…
and yet i try to love, i do, with the
limited warmth i have within me,
there’s just no loving a cool cool
darkness…. it’s like breathing in space
i would take your breathe away and then
explode your lungs into tiny slivers of
frozen stone
best to leave it alone…. i can’t even
stand myself.
ashamed
this cold heart feels nothing-
hidden behind walls of shame
and disdain
it lingers only to see the suffering
that mirrors it’s own
and the disgust it feels for weakness
is only matched by the disgust
it feels for itself
there’s nothing to be gained
by trying to love a thing as cool
as death itself
it’s cruelty knows no end
for it matches that which it knows…
ashamed
rivers
tears rolled down the mountain
cutting a way through trees and
debris
as if an unstoppable pain forged
these snaking rivers…
and the stars watched in disdain
as the birds sang in the distance
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?
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
overgrown
it’s just an emptiness that fills
the broken space within
darkness takes root in the cracks
and grows strong
soon these weeds will overrun
my garden
leaving no space for purple balloons
or forgetmenots
for low riding phlox or baskets of gold…
and i lack the strength to continue pulling
grasping at the never-ending tend
for the darkness is rooted within
so deeply that there is no
shovel that could dig out these roots
of overgrown memory
prickly throne
these thoughts sit upon a prickly throne
uncomfortable, unsteady-
full of insecure reason as memories
shade the past with hues of gray
bestowed with a crown of disbelief
and touched with lunacy
these pitiful thoughts demand attention
as rabid emotion kneels in disdain
starlight of hope and memory
oh light! you found me on my knees
praying that grace might take pity
and remove this ache that dogs me so…
and like cool water, you soothed my soul
that golden longing that touched me-
and into the ether, i bled songs for you
of days, long ago… that i remember yet;
your touch, a fire with no burn, that softly
lingers upon my spirit-
starlight of hope and memory
faded forever now into my energy
the SIBYL'S SONG 