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

before

doors slammed shut 

I could never be

until

I acknowledged

But you knew

and you waited

with a patience

I could never 

achieve

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…