Now I Am Finished

Each face I see is marred by years of loveless existence.
I do not shudder to meet their gaze and I do not withhold my smile.

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Now I am finished.
The wind blows a song of desolation and I do not mourn,
I do not covet the glimpse of your image in my mind, nor do I grieve.
The sun is merciless and I do not long for your shadow over me.
The clarity of vision is now the courage to focus on the world around me.
Each face I see is marred by years of loveless existence.
I do not shudder to meet their gaze and I do not withhold my smile.
No pity wells within me, no camaraderie do I endeavor to convey.
Yes, indeed I stand through Grace alone and with no boasting of self-confidence.
So need is not to be spoken of in my heart anymore.
I sleep the sleep of peace and do not long for what was never mine.
I long to hear the desolation of a world in turning and in death believe only good.
In these final moments grant me the ability to recognize what is best for those left behind,
A word, a scrap of wisdom, a plea to listen.
Listen:
I left what I wanted and focused on the sound of God’s voice
And the wind opened its song of longing for me and the sun spread warmth into my skin
And I ceased to be sorry for the years upon years of could have been.
The voice of God sings vibrato that pierces my mind to ecstasy and breaks my chains of self-slavery.

 

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash
I do not shudder to meet their gaze and I do not withhold my smile.

Never Mind

What do I tell my children?  What do I tell my aging parents, honest in that they
Do not envy me.

How can I convey to you the heaviness of my heart?

I’m sure you’ve felt it, experienced the physical weight of sadness.

That sudden drop which suspends inside.

Lead within the quasi-weightlessness of water.

Water, wrapped in flesh, encased in a mind that cannot lift the eyes to see the horizon.

Just take the moment of temporary lightness, the mire of reality is unfair.

No one can help me, so I look to the earth for inspiration

I look to words for hope

I look to art for some sign of sympathy.

Never mind.

The earth has become paved over with concrete without thought to next week.

The words are glossed over by Freudian overtones that mankind craves.

Art has become not the object but the person who renders nothing but style.

What do I tell my children?  What do I tell my aging parents, honest in that they do not envy me?

How do I keep from mourning the family given and then taken?

The lessons have stopped and I am now atop the tiny dynasty learning faith.

And even that the world insists gets in the way.

Never mind.

Rescue Me

I feel the best sort of rescue happens on the up swing.

Perhaps you should go ahead and rescue me.

The music was loud and perfect, the songs begged to be danced to

And me with two left feet –

no matter swing me around to the beat and the sway;

Allow me to trust you.

I was alone in a well-known crowd but no I didn’t feel isolated

I was so happy actually

So, rescue me.

Come to me now, with the gloom gone, the moon bright

The world still such a terrible fright.

Rescue me.

Take me to a late-night movie we know nothing about

Hold my hand as we walk slowly out

Bad or surprisingly good, let’s talk it over in the morning over coffee

Rescue me.

The place around me is again feeling like home and not a sanctuary,

I’m not asking you to stay

Just rescue me.

 

Black and Thin

Swift it flows, black and thin

Sharp the glint.

The moon hangs low and brilliant,

illuminating

silhouettes — brightening the night.

I’ll see her shadow dance

I’ll narrow in upon

the heart he loves.

She dances in love, she raises her arms

to the Above.

I’ll pierce her shadow

and so pierce him.

I’ll salt-tear my face, bite my lip, taste

the blood at the anguish of this night

So pierced, my friends.

Deep in my throat, I taste the iron of hate.

Deep in my heart I know the waste.

And yet swift it flows, black and thin

This river within, this torrent of hate

for both of them.

And when the deed is done, the small kingdom

Of two taken to one

I’ll return to my white and silver throne

I’ll return to praises and music,

no one knows

the black and thin deeds I’ve done.

 

My Imaginary Lover

a gift of crystal cold, love’s token from him.

A white, white rose his pallid hand extends,

a gift of crystal cold, love’s token from him.

His shimmering shadow descends

-a cold lover.

Stand above me a-shimmer,

mourn my warm bed,

and covet my kisses.

Such temptation,

such pleading his eyes convey,

-such dread and longing his presence bring.

What would sunlight say to such an apparition?

freezing the fragrance of peonies in spring,

crystallizing the red, to perfection, the blood in me?

A touch of his hand,

a pleading I see,

to share the depthless cold within him,

his lover be.

What in me beckons such as him

to share the shelter of mountain ice and swirling white wind – what?

 

Cnaejna’s Song

Come with me to the skylines of Chicago, New York, London.

I am rejected by God for good reason but come with me.

 

See the steeple, pierced deep and dimpled down between the

Steel and glass scrapers of the sky that are dark now like me.

 

Take my hand and feel the ice cold sorrow of what life is for me

I’ll allow you to think that you can save me.

 

I’ve seen so many years, so many attempts at power and vindictiveness.

I didn’t relinquish my hope of heaven for any of these.

 

Violence and its shock do not soften by its frequency -not for me.

Is that why you can pity me?

 

My motive was to live.  My motive is to feel.  My desire is now.

Listen to my siren voice if reason cannot defeat fear.

 

She did shine like a star even as a child.  Her green eyes glowed and her

Red hair was brilliant like the sun and the mist could not defeat her.

 

I summoned her like all young girls that had potential to survive the

Long years of life and the idea of hell in the end.

 

But she loved. She loved impossibly and I knew but he did not until

The end.

 

Such girls are wasted on men, wasted on love.  I was her escape to leave

Pain, gain knowledge and learn a wandering, wailing peace.

 

Come with me to the skyline of London, the dark murky shadows and

Man’s pitiful attempts at lighted darkness.

 

Come with me to set her free or to end me.  For she has chosen

Her enemy in me; neither of us beautiful, neither seeking peace.

 

Come with me to feel the vibrations of life’s power on which I feed.

 

The Love of Silence

Take heart for the cold of hatred is brief in fury

Though I would prefer the cold of nature to bury.

Take heart for the cold of hatred is brief in fury

Though I would prefer the cold of nature to bury.

I have heard of such places, the wind wicked cold

The water hard, so hard it cuts.  My sister, my sister,

Who lives there prays by the fire that keeps the winter at bay.

The men of that country, she says, glide upon the water

The water takes all the men away and they sail beyond the sun.

The water, all fresh and cold and haunted keep the men away.

She sits there and talks to God and speaks to Him about me.

My sister, says she to God, will know of me some day.

Our children are of one or the other; for me in their graves

For her never started.  We say little of their missing laughter

We say little of their missing sisters, brothers, and their play,

While in the daytime as she spins the thread that twists and curls

And I weave the nights away.

My sister steps out of her old stone house and listens to the rain

In Spring, while I listen to the sand and heat slide in a secret sacred way.

She thinks of me in the dry seasons and she prays.  I walk beneath

The dome of the universe and sing to the man that once shared

This cape of love with me – and listen to what God says she prayed.

During the day, while in the heat I let salt water drip from my eyes,

Once brilliant, clear, in pools white as milk and my husband would gaze at me

Amazed.  My sister has never known such love, such passion.  I have

Never known her days of silent peace.  We pray for one another.

We keep faith with God and wait to know the day we meet.

I will teach her to weave and love, she will teach me the love of silence.