Are you out there?
Streetlight tricks on the upshorn leaves
behind the shadow pine
catching the corner of my eye
Dry soundscrapes of tumbling remants
down the deserted road
threatening nocturnal emptiness
I listen to
An infrequent pitched squeak of a bare branch
against the window pane
warning of winter's cold breath
sadness when I see your image
behind my closed eyes
haunted regret when I sense your presence
captured in an illusionary embrace
the last remnants of a parched thirst
the slow drip of salty tears wandering in lost causes
touching my lips in ache
how you looked at me,
how you used to look right into me.
And it makes me wonder about
shivering loneliness caught in the throat of a cry.
and it makes me long for
surrendering tenderness found in the shared darkness of two souls
to soothe my wounds
to remind me of my beauty
to savour when the winds moan a bitter song
of wanting what I cannot find.
I wrote this piece last year decided to tweak it a bit and repost it. I'm surprised by this poem.......surprised by the fact that it came out of me. I find it interesting to look back on some of my pieces, particularly the ones which were prompted by a particular word or a thought that had been offered up to me. The prompt for this one was "haunted..." and today if I had thought about that word, I more than likely would have gone in another completely different direction.
One of the things I love about writing is the whole process of formulating something from one word. When it flows, it does so from a place in me that is continues to be mysterious. What I do know about that secret writing place deep inside is what dwells there. My heart and my mind come together to contemplate at a thinking and a feeling level. In fact, it is where they integrate and become the whole me. So often I will grab hold of a concept, word or phrase, usually after reading something or hearing something.....sometimes if I have personally experienced it and I try to humanize it.............give it visual feelings.....make it come to life in a different way than we usually look at it. IN this particular piece, I wanted the feeling of haunted to feed the scenario I wrote about.
Writing is an obsession, a practise, a life choice, a joy. Writing is a frustration, a challenge, a therapy, and still remains a joy. It excites, entices, and delights me. It allows me to dig deep into the recess of my own mystery in order to learn as I go.......