i fell off the edge of the world
tumbled through time, through
the air you left behind. you flew
away inside of me. I stayed
and cried, my insides
empty runways,
clouds melting into my head
asking why, why I was stilled,
holding the air you left behind
three circled
almost there, as if
empty knew
one
alone
solitary
separate
only
one
“I will end up alone he says,” and in the silent pause,
so many doors close. She collects the know before the feel,
cancels the gray-haired couple, arm-in-arm,
rocking late days on the porch of music. Promises
to stay, believe, carry him to night, those are blown away,
stripped like maples’ autumn color, disappear like summer
days. Perhaps he chose alone to spare her in some way.
Though the layer of fallen leaves and torn up plans weighs
deeply through her bones, she carries pieces of him with her.
He will never be alone.
I am here
and you are
where
I am lost
in an ocean
of your
silence
reaching for a
lifeboat
of your words
but
wind speaks waves
that crash
over me
listening
cloud cover
only
beyond my sea
your island
of words
I
float
in
silence
Some
locks
don’t open
even if you have the
key.
Life
may have been
too harsh, and
rain,
too many days,
will rust anyone
closed.
You can
climb over gates
but the
lock
will always
stay
rusted shut,
in time and for time,
and only he
will know
why.
(today I decided to walk out deep into the woods until I came up with answers to the questions I have been pondering. after walking more than 7 miles in the heat, I found myself lying face down in a grove of trees, with no recollection of what had happened. i took this photo then. i was injured, dizzy, and in no shape to walk the remaining 5 miles back to my car, but i realized that, not only did i have no phone reception, but i had no one to call to come help me. somehow i made it out. i was in the woods for almost 5 hours. after i got home, i found this poem on my phone. i wrote it today, but i have no recollection at all of writing it. i think that says a lot.)
eight miles out i fall
black out, wake up
stones edge tree lean
ask. no reception here
no one to call. leaks
from knees, red, and eyes,
clear drops of alone
air crush with know. no
breath. out of focus all.
lost. alone. maybe here
home after all.
has words for all, gather and follow,
crowd me to the corner, unseen.
what do they mean? what do they
mean? words you’ve already given,
taken, turned, used, played, bestowed,
i don’t want them. i take silence,
shelter here, covered in real. alone,
away from crowds of more to claim
you, to pull, hold, own the words.
spread your imprint, your follow,
pieces for each, exchanged for devotion,
fill you up, adore. I, alone, more, silent,
gone.
empty picnic table
covered in snow
remembers a time
she wasn’t alone
winter tire tracks
long in the night
ending nowhere
endless streetlights
the coldest days
spent white and alone
frozen promises
fill up your home
Among the bare trees and ridges
in the last days of the year,
I tried to get lost. It was nearly dark,
evening clouds covered the mountain,
covered me, pulling deeper down
past mossy fallen oaks and the stream
that sang of never returning.
I followed as each path faded,
until there was none, and no me,
just blueness and quiet, and I secretly
hoped no voices would find me to call
me back. Late, in the dark and cold,
there were voices that haunted me
back, and I shuffled return steps
with my head down, through the darkness.
I still long for lost.
one more voice saying
disappear
join the chorus in my head
disappear, disappear
voices haunt every moment
disappear, disappear, disappear
I listen, don’t eat, or talk, or feel
disappear, disappear, disappear, disappear
I thought I found
~stay~
but it was just another
disappear
Solitary in Moab, by the Colorado River
Good morning….echoes throughout my blog which has yet to find readers 😉 . That’s ok. I will continue to share. If you write it, they will come, right? Well, maybe…
“I have learned now that while those who speak about ones miseries usually hurt, but those who keep silence hurt more. ”
― C.S. Lewis
This is what I am contemplating today. There are times I want to hide and run away and hear only silence for days. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to be dropped off in the middle of the forest somewhere, such is my need to escape the chaos around me. Do other people feel the same? I don’t know. Some people thrive upon it, I think.
When I feel bad, really bad, like the kind of bad where I am spending hours with the pillow over my head and purposely stepping in front of speeding cars, I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to hear from anyone. I want to be ALONE. And yet, somewhere inside I know that isolation is not the answer. I have to force myself to talk to people, to step outside the house.
And, usually, the things I least want to talk about the the things I need to talk about most….
The blooms dotted the green bushes in colors
only summer could dream, blends of yellow,
orange, pink, and red. They lulled me
with their sweetness, and I hovered there
in the stillness, as butterflies descended
on to the splendid blooms. They drifted all
around me, each one painted with her own
enchanting pattern, her own combination of colors.
They were summers snowflakes, each perfectly
different, as they drifted in the sweet breeze
of summer and floated among blooms. Sun
pushed down with summers heaviness, and
I waited to see two butterflies that matched,
in color and pattern. Those flowers flooded
in June colors boasted more fluttering beauty
than I could have imagined before that day, and yet
it stays with me that there were no pairs, no
connections. They all flew alone.
Talking to the Clouds 