Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Water Shows The Hidden Heart
Night still black. Still feeling the loss of time. Wires hang above lifeless in the coming cold or warmth. I can’t remember who I am, my name flees in the sound of the wind. Loss comes in waves and freedom its close companion. Free. Freedom in the days. Everyone says let go of the self, but the self was uprooted at an early age, broken and unacquainted with justice. Fairness, he said, was not yours to have. There are a million sounds in a piece of music. We dream with our hearts. The streetlights glow in part through the dark curtains, and I am drawn in. I am sending poems through the quiet neediness. I was but the believer in small miraculous squirrels, blackbirds scattering through the pines. I am waiting for the sound of truth, the sound of beauty and many say both are dead. I watch the clock round its way late and I’m wondering what will come, what will come, what will come?
Some nights you feel alone in such bleakness. I heard the late night comedian chuckle and the din of -morning calling. I am un-awakened in the prime of my life? There’s a heated weariness to what I’ve lost. And letting go, the peace that waves through us like thinning clouds. I was dreaming the sunset over El Paso’s hills, sky of light, blood red, pinkish. Some nights you can’t find solitude, though you’re lonely as can be. Night has fallen through my dreams. Night has wrapped itself about my bones. I heard a whisper of need, a man on the telephone. Dreamt of friends too lonely to call, the river and the stream where blackbirds flew in time when she died, by the hundreds, as if to say, breathe, breathe again before you attempt to sing.
Still at midnight, reflecting back on past day lit clouds. The thin ones, others billowing, rising like cobras, silence takes its time. Where am I going? I’m lost in past hurt like a wounded child. I believed in love once, and suddenly it blew my face off.
I feel stuck tonight, writing proves difficult. Disappointed in past mistakes, mistakes I re-do quite readily. I feel in some ways a failure, but it's time to take time off from the hectic pace of the world and rest. Maybe I'll be able to write tomorrow.
Posted by Sheryl at 12:21 AM