My Janus
hear my cry
Pain can't
be mine alone
I can't alone
feel this stab
I can't be
outside the stream
Reach
My Janus
your hand
Reach!
My hand extended
fingers clawed
Beg
I of you
on bended
painful
knee
Why is the sky
clear
Why do the birds
mock me
Why do my tears
fall on barren
soil
O Holy Night
take my soul
for of this earth
my days seem short
and my nights
too long
4 comments:
Barren, there are few words as allusive. The poem entire is a denotation of the title, deeply stirring, resonant lamentation. With each poem, the weight of feeling seen becomes still heavier, with each poem, I know less how to express the imprint, words written by heart heard by heart.
These eight poems are layers, one written after the other and need to be read as a whole, each a window of the same house, each offering a view.
Instead of penning a new poem to bled the pain, I simply say to this one: ditto.
HXO
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