Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Awake~a poet's soul

Wrapped up in the absurdly mundane

moving from day to day.

In the task and function of things to get done

not living a life at all.

Filling up rooms with stacks of blank pages

so fully I can no longer get in.

Quieting my voice with the nothing of numb

until there was nothing left to say.

There was something hiding under the bed

to its rumbling I have awakened.

Eyes still blurry, thoughts not quite clear

yet the pain in my heart is alive.

Shaken from the fuzzy, little warm cocoon

where I had seemed to have formed an existence.

Torn from the quiet and deafening silence

that I had imposed on myself.

With an urgency I feel the need

to carve, to scratch, to scrawl.

To leave indelible evidence

that I am awake and can feel.

The pain and ache in this poet’s soul

is screaming and tearing down walls.

The need to be heard is no longer as strong

as it is for what needs to be said.

This is about me filling up the pages

that line the walls of this room.

About creating the space in which I want to live

filled with the beauty that is sometimes pain.

No longer silent, I cannot go back

even if forward brings imminent change.

I will carry these pages held close to my heart

and will use them as maps along the way.

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