There are things inside each of us that demand to be heard and quite often, we're just not willing to listen. Sometimes we're just too busy... Sometimes, because we're so afraid, we're trying our best to run so we can't hear... These writings are about the times I stopped to listen to what was going on inside me... The times that instead of running from myself, I stopped, did the best I could to look fear in the face, and let the words flow out from me. They reflect different times and places in my journey -- a journey that is far from complete...


Welcome

Welcome...
Though my invitation might not be clear.
Come into the garden -- see the flowers bloom
Or this evening, watch the moon through the skylight.
Rest in the parlour -- the furniture is a bit stiff,
It's proudly kept if you don't mind the yesteryears it represents.
Or if it's more comfort you desire, follow me to the living room
And sit by the fire in the hearth.
Here, we'll share a pot of tea; I'll hear of what you've done
and then perhaps, talk a bit of me if that's what you wish.
Ah, the other room you ask?
Quite frankly, right now, it's in some mess And would cause me distress
to take you there.
But you insist -- very well,
It's at the core of the house. I just need to remember where I've put the key...
Together, we'll push through the heavy door to this, the storehouse of all that is me.
Yes, you may come in, but mind your step
for though right now some things are cast down and out of order,
there is nothing to replace them.
Certainly, you may play at the piano,
In fact, in any style you wish.
But play only if you play well
for in that music is my niche to hold the world
and dischord would cause me to call the playing to an end.
And though I feel worse when it's I who errs,
I cannot tolerate the sound from someone who is my companion,
but not yet my friend.



The Storm

Limbering arms, flailing wildly
As the greens on brown turn inside out
The then rippling waters build to seething
And meet the shoreline
Where they break to the tiniest of tiny droplets
That become stilled on the nearly invisible sandgrains.
Small green lives unearthed
Once rooted, now freed to come or go
but only to where the rush takes them
for it is most powerful.
Ominous skies; grey, split with fire
and in that instant of brightness,
see what has been done
to the earth
of the earth

And it subsides -- calm restored.

Can it last?


Sometimes

Sometimes
you can cry a river of tears
but still not wash away the fears.
Sometimes
you can be so very tired
but every muscle stays fired,
ready for flight.
Sometimes
you feel that you need someone so much
but you can't let them too close
or they might touch
that nerve, that spot
or say a word
that again makes you ask Why?
How can this craziness be a part of my
Life?
Sometimes
you can put together the pieces of the puzzle
and you no longer need a muzzle,
not afraid of what you may say...

sometimes.


Beyond

I can see beyond the clouds sometimes,
to where the sky is blue, to where what can be seen is true.
to where all is what it seems.
Then the clouds roll in
-- thick
-- thicker

and I can only guess
what is on the other side
and the feelings, in hiding, are just beyond my reach.
And so I tuck them away to where I can't see them,
buried deep where I hope they die.


The Hollows

You took away my eyes.
They were meant to see beauty.
They were meant to take in light and love, to express hope and trust.
They were meant to be beauty.
But you took away my eyes

and in their place, you left an endless hollow that runs from my head... to my heart... to my soul...
You left non-stop movie scenes to keep me company--to remind me.
My eyes weren't yours to take,
so I'm reclaiming them--my eyes and me.
And each raw nerve ending is now
tentatively... gently... lovingly... painfully
being reconstructed,
reconnected.
Yeah, you took away my eyes and left only gaping torment in their place.
You thought that then I couldn't see you for what you were,
that then, no one would see me for who I was,
but you were wrong.
With my reconnected eyes, I now look into the hollows
and with others, touch and slowly heal my eyes,
my heart,
my soul. You took away my eyes, but you can't keep them
because they're mine.
And I want to see beauty.

I want to be beauty.


All poems copyright 1995 - May NOT be reprinted

Sage

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