Grazing at the breast of need
Whose nipples tease but never feed
I am swallowed by the maelstrom of my soul
And become unbecoming.
"But all is well!" I coo and cant
There is no hunger, is no want.
At my own table I will pray -
"Unto myself," I say.
Then heaving its paroxysms into the night
(To hide the lie from any light)
My soul and spirit in sad antiphony
Mourn their own demise.
What evil separated me from thee
To curse my days, my nights, my sleep
To steal and kill this non-being
With schism of head and heart?
How can I abide grief so deep
That threatens to engulf this me
And suck the breath from all that be -
My Mother, my Self, my I, my Thee?
Buried treasures of fear and pain,
Splitting consciousness regained,
Terror at the thought of Me
Annihilated.
Where went that me, that sweet, that soft
Who once nuzzled the feeding trough
Which refusal stangled spirit and sent me
Wandering the Vale?
That which echoes down the years since then
Descends upon me, and again,
With two-edged sword between bone and marrow
Separating the real from pseudo-self.
I was Nothing without her
And when she went away
She took Nothing with her
Left Nothing behind her
And left Nothing in her wake.
&İrighted 1998

Alice

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