By ~Lady Day December 30, 2012
The Day of long shadows has descended, as they scream with the light
Words spinning away the truth, as I fight.
You ask for my voice time and again
It feels broken and over-used, swimming in the shallows of dim.
So I’ve nestled down, into a deep sleep like deathly night.
Obscure evening shaded, tucked away from all sight.
Snuggled up with the sadness and smiles of hibernating doze,
I await Spring’s return, for the sun to melt what has froze.
Sheltered away from the Storm that takes all, that swirls the Day
A tempest of gray clouds, pulling at the trees, uprooting what I’d say.
This Day of long winter shadow, bladed with the scorching orange through the grim
The Day, has become darkened and dim.
The words are growing cold in the frosted mist I breathe
They fall, but are heavy, too heavy for me, to heave
Onto my back and drag into the sun with cold hearted fingers and lung
Ten thousand songs I have sung…
I do wonder, what were they all for?
For what purpose, I’m just another opposite to the cure,
Another pale figure wandering in this mist
What good are the words that bleed from this wrist?
Seven million souls upon a teetering ship headed t’ward a ledge
How many will stop, not pitch over the edge?
The words I often feel in my soul
They are heavy, yes. They have a toll.
What I have to say, to speak, trust me, you’d not hear a word
In person, my thoughts would never be heard.
So all the poetic writing and verse, rhyming and thought…
These Days, I think so often, a waste, is it not?
Then I hear voice upon voice ask for return
I think on it all, I listen, I learn…
I speak more to myself it seems these Days…
My world so often filled with a haze of bitter grays.
What good is a voice that feels lost in the labyrinth of seeking truth,
To old to be foolish, to young to be free as youth.
Not old enough to be wise, just a house poet
I once said, ‘I’m not good at much, and I know it.’
Tell me, what has changed? Nothing…still just a silly girl with a pen
And some Days, I care not if it never bled again.
Pointless and a waste of time…
Really, that’s what I feel so often, everytime my brain asks to rhyme.
These words are not to evoke pourings of encouragement or dipped in self pity
I dig into my life ’til my hands are busy, dirty and gritty
Coated in pursuits coated in love and family
This poetic world, what is it, some insane fantasy?
Imaginary worlds and I, tango and dance, weave and part,
It was always thus, truly from the start.
Some times I just think the imaginings, their world, the song voice of the poetess,
Well, no offense to all the beautiful poets, but at times, it’s useless.
Imagine, a poet who doesn’t really believe in the worlds that exist in the mind
That the one that exists, is seen too clear, is the worst kind
Where the best are poets, the worst run the joint,
I see the filth of humanity, and I get the point.
Some times the poet in me wishes to scream at all, as they seem blind
But truth and years, instead, teach me to be patient and kind.
So, I’ve closed my tongue much, as the Winter has fallen deep in this land
I grasp only one, by an invisible hand.
So broken the world, where we all live and die.
The words… they break, they scream, they sob, they cry.
So I lay hidden for now, this slumbery sleep curled beneath my tree,
Awaiting, and longing, for the Day, that again feels free.
Why you keep pulling me forth, out of my den, why?
There are many a poet here, many who are deep, talented, though perhaps do not Bely…
But the depth stirs at times deep, brooding and needs to silence in fear of harsh thought this time of year
This season of ‘joy and giving’ that actually breeds suicide, sadness and tear.
So…it makes sense to silence, rather than spoil those who still believe this myth and lie
Than explain, write, extend ‘holiday wishes’ and not need to explain why.
I fit really, no where at all, between worlds and alone in my mind of thought
So for compassion, to allow what others believe, I’ve wrote not.
So now you know…some of the reasons, quiet I have gone
I would stay thus, but you’ve plead for a glimmer of dawn
Time will tell, if I can break the walls that I’ve built bout my soul
The protection from the tear down, well, like everyone else, keeps me whole.
I await a world, much like the one we all dream of
One surrounded in mankind’s goodness, peace, joy and love…
To speak of such things though, seems always turned away
They’ve been much on this mind, this Hope, is sealed in this Day.
I could write on and on, until the breaking of time and space,
Bend back and forth thought, but, for now I make haste…
Go to seek knowledge of my God, to give the Almighty worship and praise,
Really, the only place of protection, in these, what feels to be, in all honesty, ‘the last days.’
There are so many things this makes me want to say…and yet, I have not earned the right to say them. I have not the history as having spoken as a friend over time and through the fragile seeming bits and bytes of cyberspace. But still…do I dare speak and risk personal comment to one who dances on the edge of Winter’s Jagged Ice?
Dear sweet poetess ~ for that you are, you must heed your instincts and withdraw to sleep when you must; for only after the healing sleep can you create. It takes such courage to do what you do. You go through periods of withdrawal when your soul is raw and every touch an agony. I am so sorry that you must go through that. It pains me to think of it because I have seen it and know it well. My David has always suffered so. I hurt for both of you and take comfort in remembering that “This too shall pass”.
This Christmas gift you wrote for David is the most wonderful thing! You did bring tears to his eyes when he started reading it and it was a beautiful thing to see. Thank you! It is a lovely writing. You have such depth and such a gift for imagery.
I especially liked this,:
How wonderfully the words of, as you call yourself, a housewife poet, could resonate with a young wife! I remember how difficult and alone I often felt learning to balance the life I wanted when I was young. I would have welcomed and cherished your words. Your passion is present in every line. That life is not easy but is worth it is a story not told often enough these days. To hear it from a talent as good and as true as yours is a blessing. Life is rich and sensuous and bleak and stark and terrifying and all kinds of things ~~ and you say them all with a wonderfully authentic voice.
So rest, Sweet Poetess, and gather your children to you. These are terrifying days. Wait until you feel you are strong again and if you choose to write for an audience you will find us eager to hear your voice again.
(it took me longer to decide on just one part of your writing to reflect upon than it took to write the entire comment. It is all so beautifully done. I especially like the way the whole piece begins small and builds creating movement throughout the entire writing. Very dynamic!)
I quite agree!
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The rhythm and rhymes of this piece are beautiful on their own. Like the winter wind it howls and yet, like snow it whispers. The last days may indeed be saving but yet, bittersweet. A poem to be read slowly and carefully and then, read yet again.