I gather hardened scars of loss and damage
Braided into keloid beauty
That are not blossoms of bitterness,
But fragrant beauties
That make me who I am.
Even the bars of your barren garden
Called love could not steal away
The essence of my hope.
Instead, the black, barrenness
within sugar syrup words
Of one never able to love
Contain no acid
To eat away
My skin of hope.
Winds and rains came today.
I tried to follow the trail
They made.
But on this first day of May,
I was not strong enough–
To let the wind take me,
To allow pelting rain to abrade away
All my accumulated grime.
No freedom could I find
Within this day of winds and rains.
A phoenix rises in flames
From out the left side of my chest
With feathers of flame yet,
Set free to fly where it wills.
One day, it will return,
Nuzzling deep inside my chest again,
All the ashes gone,
All flame having died away,
Its fiery colored feathers
Whispering, singing to my blood
Of beauty seen,
Of tantalizing things touched,
Of all the air breathed, smelled, felt,
Of the sounds soft and harsh heard
All along the way around the earth.
Through the whispered tales
Of those fiery feathers
My blood will tell me
Where I am to go.
I hesitate in remembrance
as if the fates would choose
a day of gray and leave me there,
as if a blossoming could be had upon
a second visitation to any day.
The creamer clouds disperse and swirl
in my extra strong coffee
like memories of things I wanted–
never had, never attained
all those years ago.
Stirring the coffee still,
I stare out the kitchen window.
Decide against a bird feeder
filled with black oil sunflower seeds.
I do not want cardinals here.
People say cardinals are spirits
of those you’ve lost come to visit you—
No. I want no cardinals here.
No spirits of the lost to visit or say hello.
No twittering or chittering away.
No vibrancy of color outside this window.
No. Not here. Not in this place.
I’d rather this be a spiritless place,
A virgin place, void of spirits, void of touch—
At least for a time
Sleeplessness always told the story
Between the here and the now
The between and
What she thought a game
The tracks that led to nowhere
The last section of a living
Something not well lived
A swirl of memory
Piercing through knots
could not be undone
She had lived with no plan
With only a heart that failed
More than once
A heart she could not ever trust
A heart that spoke in religious tongues
She’d yet to understand
Its rhyme or reason for speaking
In lies and whispers,
For leading her astray,
For leading her to abandon her dreams and plans,
She would never know.
This was her last act, in her last years,
To strip herself of harlequin clothes.
Meet me in the field
Where heather sways with the wind
Through time we will live.
Life, never a friend,
Kept us from knowing true joy,
Meet me in the field,
Where loss is gaining
And grief blossoms into joy
Meet me where gold grows.
summer hot, humid
kills desire of sweetness
flowers forgiveness
falls decaying death
forgiveness dead leaves lifeless
blacken a gift heart
winter freezing ice
a cold weapon forgiveness
to cut the giver
spring new life begins
forgiveness lifeless, no seed
to plant, grow—never
The bird of flame rises
From the ashes in my chest—
Ash of forgiveness
Never given.
August–
The resplendent month,
Of sun’s heat and blinding light.
The lethargic month
Of jealousy’s blight,
A thing of loss, not fought.
August—
The milestone marking month,
Of anniversaries, holidays, tears.
The flaming month
Of ashes where freedom,
A rising thing, held dear.
Syrup still dripping from your fingertips,
you try to gift me the sugared dreams
you have stolen away
from a pearlescent candied sky.
I long to taste such dreams
of sweetened rest.
https://scvincent.com/2020/07/09/thursday-photo-prompt-vista-writephoto/
Gazing at lush greenness as it travels
along this vista, a soul emptied of itself,
shrinking away to dust
for all the of giving it had done,
breathes in fullness and begins to glow.
Only here in green wildness breathed,
can pinhole prick holes and jagged slashes
be sealed in a soul emptied of itself.
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