I can hide in catacombs of colors and never look to the sky. My blood shed, bled out in tiny droplets of all the years of parting, dripping, draining in the darkness And carried away, scattered to the winds, Leavings upon the ground, seedless seeds, Sprouting up in colorless flowers of summer without colors, Without the dreams of sunlight on their faces, Without fragrance sweet, divinity in scents we can never forget lost. We learn to live with regrets taken, earned, packed away With the mortgage of things within our hearts, within our lifetimes of meaning, Within our trying just one more damn time, Drifting up in clouds of long-ago cigarette smoke. Crush this dried out husk of me, Scatter those particles of dust to the wind And see if colors sprout once that dust settles upon the ground, See if there’s meaning left within their regrets, See if there’s fragrance, some elegance of divinity within a scent To be remembered when there is nothing, Nothing left but this wisp of memory Within your breath. Let go my hand, love. Leave me wrapped in the shroud Of all my days and regrets shared along the way To here, this time of parting. Leave me to hide away In this catacomb of colors.
Could you, would you know the darkness too? Or would you try to erase it as others do? Would you ignore it? Say you wanted it gone? Say your touch should drive away the darkness within? The darkness is there– inside me, it has always been, I need it, need it to be there, just a spot or two. I need it to visit, take a trip with it. Occasionally— ride a night, a day, all the stars at times, sleep and wake with it. It keeps me strong, this steel skeleton of my heart and soul, keeps me whole, makes me who I am. My darkness does not need some antidepressant elixir. My darkness is a shit pile of things, years, and incidents I keep tucked away– a part of me.
Could you, would you know it? Keep it, if given? Or tell me to let it go and get over it like others have? Could you, would you understand how happiness can be had and yet keep the darkness for creating, repairing, reinforcing the steel railings of my spine, my soul, my heart, my mind, my all that I am. Could you, would you understand, without the darkness, I cannot give you all that I am?
My scars flames–
The sides of my back,
pock marked brown
if not daily oiled in
the red, orange, white
trailing once welted scars,
faded, now barely.
if even seen–
if I should like,
or if I so prefer,
burning back past paths
behind so I may fly
to places I wish,
to my soul.
My scars flame–
Only I see
and only I know
the power contained
in my flaming scars.
Pieces of her broke in the waves,
Searching for wildness
In this place she always went to be alone.
She walked along this shore a thousand times
In the dawn and the dusk
As if they were quantities unknown,
And thus, in them, she could discover some truth,
Some faith, some charity, some hope for herself.
Who knew? It had worked before.
She’d walk toward the town with something—
Some small bit piece replenished.
She’d always heard salt was healing,
So she figured she’d rub it in her wounds.
But bloody red and raw
She walks still wounded, broken,
Along the wildness,
Yet not touching it.
She can not find what she lost.
Her wounds chains,
Binding her still
To things she knew illusions.
She waits for the friction of salt
To rub away the chains.
She walks toward the seals in the surf
And on toward the whales in the deep,
Searching for truth or faith or charity
In the wildness of the sea.
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