The question appears
Over and over
A litany of loneliness
Or would be
If I knew what that meant
Pretentions aside
This is a question I can’t answer
The meaning of life?
It well could be
The mysteries of the universe?
It certainly is one
As is the vessel
Of my ignorance
Philosophy? Theology?
Both have helped
To order thought
And quiet mind
But not the heart
So the question remains
Trapped in beauty
Surprising elegance
Wit beyond words
Mischief unmeasured
And cool, clear draughts
Of depths unplumbed
By anyone, I fear.
So this question
My query
My dumbfoundedness
Is constant and
Unremitting
Unrepentant
As, in all honesty
Am I.
Stone and sea won’t wait for me
Follow me up
Follow me down
Sky cries out so angrily
Follow me through
Follow me ’round
Lightning breaks like anxious sweat
Follow me here
Follow me there
Rain soaked dreams I can’t forget
Follow me out
Follow and dare
Sun might crack the creaking cloud
Follow the path
Follow the lane
Beams berate the surging crowd
Follow me in
Follow my pain
Dream of winter; ice and snow
Follow me forth
Follow me back
Dream of wind; a tornado
Follow the dirt
Follow the track
Leaves in face, obscuring smiles
Follow the flow
Follow the drive
Tears to last the endless miles
Follow ’til death;
Follow alive.
That tentative touch
Meant more than
Grasping hands
Or heat and hearts
Or legs intwining
Dangerous, damaging
No, nothing carnal
Nothing of the sort
Yet it burns hotter
Hotter than I remember
Harder than you know
Heavier than salt
And twice the sting
In the wound now
Open again and
Bleeding
Bleeding
Bleeding
No bandage but time
No salve but rhyme
No options here
But partners in crime
Will laugh and sigh
And cope
For haven’t we always?
Or was that yet
Another illusion
Mist in the wind
Headlights in the fog
Journeys untravelled
Forever.
I find writing a wonderful coping mechanism. If in doubt, write it out! Poems, songs, even random ramblings all help me put my thoughts into some kind of order; left to their own devices, they squabble and have no pecking order, but on the page, they are orderly and meek, though no less filled with the zing of inspiration.
When feeling low, when depression threatens like a blackness in the peripheral vision, the simple joy of sharing a poem can put a candle to that black. The sense of achievement from a deadline hit, or an essay that hits home; these little victories straighten my spine inch by inch, allowing the shoulders to bear a bit more without sagging.
Sometimes when anxiety is a raging tornado of bile and burns me from the inside out, I cannot write. This is my weather check; if I can’t write, things are bad. And sometimes I will try and force myself to, but will be so horrified at the muddled mess on the paper that I curl in on myself, hiding from my failure, and the world. At times like these music becomes my companion, coaxing me gently away from my fears until my hand is steady enough to hold the own once more
In magic, we sometimes write out things we want to be rid of- negativity, regret, bad habits and so forth- and we burn the paper, imagining our unwanted aspects drifting away with the smoke. Writing is a powerful tool, and I am grateful for it, especially at times of stress, when spoken words simply stutter and the mind will not be calm.
Gut stained purple
Still saying no
Stars fade forever
Still have to go
Sunlight sudden
Still in shadow
Snow in summer
Still burning cold
Stomach at the circus
Still drop the curtain
Lion needs taming,
Still crack the whip
Heart in free fall
Still turn machine off
Beeping fading
Still can’t hear.
not really a finished piece, just some ideas I’m working on.
Blackbirds at Twilight
Calling, indignant,
Get out of my space
This is my place
I perch at the edge
The edge of worlds
The edge of all things
Guarding the boundary
I am Druid Dubh
But hear me now
For you are still
For you respect
For you listen and understand
Try to connect;
My angry shout swells
Into song so sweet
And while light remains
Hear my soothing strains
As you walk the winding lanes
To your nest.