Wednesday, September 23, 2015

When the Past Echoes to Today

In the reworking of the old poems to get them on the computer, I am surprised to find I still hold the feelings in my heart. Oh, the moment is not exactly the same, but there are echoes through time. I can still feel those emotions even though I am not in the same place.

Time, circumstances, and personal growth have made changes within, and yet, there’s that part of me that knows, that remembers, that understands. Some things don’t change much. There are things in a person’s soul, things embedded deep inside, that will always be there.

Maybe I am a person who carries sadness. That doesn’t have to be considered bad or negative. I will even admit there are times when I enjoy being in that place because it is a chance for exploration and discovery. I find it rather fascinating… when I can move beyond the personal in-the-moment emotional outburst, that is.

Writing allows me that chance to explore. How do I describe what I feel when often there are no real words? How do I let you know that I find excitement in these discoveries? 

It’s a definite treasure hunt. Find the right words to share pain while not making the writing sound depressed and unhappy. Find the right words to bring beauty to unpleasant moments. Find the right words to convey falling down into the dark depths of the well and crawling back out to vibrant sunshine and life. 

Writing poetry that comes from those darkest places is like shining a beautiful light into the soul. The words enable me to find my way out. What joy to see that light! What joy to put the words on paper or the computer and see that I’ve done something amazing. What joy to be alive to experience these things.

In Limbo

I don’t know when
I quit shedding tears

Sorrow gathers in my heart
like autumn bees
sucking the last nectar
from a dead rose

It doesn’t matter

I sit with this moment
of sadness
knowing joy is just
around the bend 
of a mind
when it agrees to yield

I don’t know why
mountains shed color
and new coats
shiver in different hues

What once my heart
called delicious
is now stale

Yesterday’s hunger
Does not satisfy
the cold breath
of a frigid morn

My mind overheats
and I lie
on a bed of coals
waiting for spring.

(Original writing 11/07/08; edited 09/23/15 –SW)

For the Beloved

Snow fell 
ice formed
walls came down 
for a brief glimpse
doors slammed shut 

I could never be
I acknowledged

But you knew
and you waited
with a patience
I could never 

Oh, Beloved,
when summer
becomes fall
will you still love me?

(Originally written 02/09; edited 09/23/15 – SW) 

I occasionally write about the Beloved, although I’ve not shared many of those poems. Maybe it’s because I am unsure how to describe Beloved and is it THE Beloved or is it just Beloved?

Beloved isn’t any one person, or even a person per se. I don’t know if Beloved is God or Great Spirit… Maybe Beloved is different for each one. I’m not even sure if Beloved is male or female, though most of the time, I feel She is female. But it doesn’t matter.

Beloved… higher spirit, my higher spirit, it doesn’t matter. There is something greater, something beyond this realm, something watching, waiting to be acknowledged…

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