The wind
wasn't here yesterday
whipping as it is
what does it know
what does it care
to carry my cry
to parts unknown
I feel the splinters
in my back
an itch of cacti
seductive pain
a need to atone
to drive the nail
forever beyond my belief
Take me to
a heaven
Take me to a hell
and I laugh at the thought
that neither
will avail
as I join the great
silence
a place
quite like home
9 comments:
Beautiful fractal, Tree - and that scares the crap out of me, what you wrote. Are you suicidal ?
If you are, please, please reach out and call a hotline or call me. I can't do anything but listen, but that I can and will do -
your friend Annie
if you want to e-mail me, I'll give you my phone number, ok ?
LOVINGANNIEATGMAILDOTCOM
Just writing Annie. No more. No less. Thanks for the kind words and the concern.
Okay, Whew (wipes brow).
Powerful writing when you can make me believe it is so imminently real.
I'll never reveal my sources of inspiration. But I would like to bend you over your kitchen table while you are baking cookies. Peanut butter cup if you don't mind.
snicker. You naughty man - that is a lovely idea !
Divorce first, please :)
Poppet, your expressions are awe-inspiring, kites taken and lifted and the very last bow on their tail, that very last part flying way below, trying to hold tight, that is what reading them is, awed by the combinations, like a classical composition, jazz, they cannot be guessed at, the changes are sharp at times, surprising, incredibly exciting as when they come, one realizes that they fit perfectly but that only the most creative would see the possibilities of this sound (/word) following that and as I write this, I expanded the post within this comments box and simply looked at the words, and in doing so, one realizes it is not something obvious, words on a page as notes on a music sheet, alone they are just that, but played together, start to finish, the piece is exceptional, bright, enlightened, another level.
Sweetest, this is what I call a bitter piece. Bitter at the wind, which, no matter how one tries, one can never strike back as it has struck. Ghost like, this wind, coming when it comes, whipping, literally, as slaps to the face; yet, how does one slap back the wind?
Perhaps, in humbleness. Perhaps. Need to think about that. Or perhaps in the letting go, the non-attaching. Maybe.
There is power in words. Awesome writing but very .... ? ... the right word eludes me this late at night.
The best part about reading work like this and having the option to comment is that it is an opportunity to fellowship with the writer.
The worst part is that you get to know the writer and when you would like to offer the comfort of a hug, it is not an option.
Very frustrating.
Jen, I share your frustration. On the one hand, I have found more love and compassion from my online friends than from the flesh and blood in my life and this has been a wonderful thing. On the other hand, as you say, it's kinda hard to hug and hold those who are not near, that we may never see or meet other than on the illuminated screens of our computers. All the same, I would not trade you for all the popcorn in Iowa. :-D
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