you left behind

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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

Ending Up Alone

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“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.

Rusty Locks

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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.

after all

(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.)

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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. 

gone

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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.

 

Longing for Lost

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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. 

disappear

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

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Good Morning!

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….

Butterfly Garden

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.