October was a wonderful month and I’m actually working towards keeping up my ‘poem-a-day’ even when it turns into more of a journal entry. Sometimes writing is not just one thing, and the poetry of the everyday counts just the same. Sometimes its the way we work through past hurts, even when they aren’t really a part of our present anymore. Sometimes the lines of verse are tiny cuts to the lines that hold us to those things not meant for us. The heart is a wild and rampant beast sometimes and we all deal with the fallout of her decisions differently. Hopefully we learn something new, each time.
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I’ve written so many lines about you
tracked tears under every constellation
ached under the flowering trees
and sweated out remorse under July skies
I’ve worried for you,
rued you
let the storms of winter freeze
any embers I thought remained
Still they simmer past
all reason, reemerging in my heart
where not even a desire to live resides
You were the fall of my empire
and yet I still find you in the rubbled remains
the inconsistent wound
that does not ever, ever heal.
It is heart deep and tragic and
I never know what to do
when it opens
again, and again
and again...
Do I press fluttering hands to it
failure to staunch the bleeding in my own weakened state?
Numb the pain with earthly asides?
Embrace it and lick at the blood,
ravenous for even the slightest taste of your attention?
If I have changed in these many years
then I know you have too
So how can I still claim to burn
for a specter who is no longer
the same that haunts my mind's halls?
How can my same old heart
have not grown along with
this hardened shell
and deepening wrinkles?
How has my tough hide not
pushed out the sliver of you
buried in my irate skin?
How can you still pull at my insides?
It is an irrational and hungry storm
and I am weary of trying to tie my lines against it
I guess after millions of years
the moon still pulls the sea
and no one begs to wonder why.
