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As I laid in his arms after the passion,
I placed my head on his chest,
the silence was deafening,
for his heart did not beat for me....
With just a heartbeat's pause,
Every prior object sought,
And all the toiling up til now;
That mattered; now does not.
Who are we to yearn for more,
Then but delight of day?
Be it burden or a privilege,
To remember yesterday?
And lo, if it calls out to you!
Just a single backward glance,
Might just forgo tomorrow,
From destiny ....to chance.
So within the pause; just...be,
At peace and hold thy breath.
Unknown how many lie between,
The next until thy death.
You may not breathe as deeply,
As you did breathe a year ago,
But do not preempt this moment,
Nor mourn the ones that go.
The heartbeat's pause is timely.
Perfected, proper, prime.
Each second unassuming,
More or less of time.
Of what I feel no longer,
Of what I perceive no more,
Some may call me the richer,
I think me rather poor.
My knees no longer tremble,
My heart no more aloft,
And I discern no difference,
Between the hard and soft.
I sense not the mourning,
My heart knows that it should,
Nor can I measure by degrees,
Of equal; bad and good.
And the echo would be hollow,
Were you to beat upon my chest,
All that's found here at this inn,
Is an empty, vacant, rest.
Which cost me not a single thing,
Spare a dream upon my waking,
Meanwhile 'til soul from slumber stirs,
My heart will not be breaking.
Whose number one will I ever be?
I'm always number two or three.
But I share my number one,
With everybody, everyone!
But recently I've come to see,
That my number one is me.
And you and you and you and you,
Are now priority number two.
I want to leave .
I just want to rise and leave .
Grab my keys and a coat and leave .
Leave behind everything and everyone I should never carry on my back all the time.
They never carried me.
And my ******* back hurts   all the time now.
It hurts to rise.
So they all have me where they want me .
Immobile, unsatisfied, and mute.
Spare this silly screen which no one I know will see.
But one day they will glance in this corner
And I won't be here anymore.
And maybe I'll post on here where I am.
But no one I know will see it.
And that makes me smile.
When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.

But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."

Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.
Sometimes just for nostalgia,
I re-read the poems of the past.
You wrote with such conviction,
And a hope which did not last.
But just to see those words again,
Makes my world again so clear.
Filled with courage, without doubt,
The days of yesteryear.
When all the "black and white" of it,
The search for a perfect tree,
"Trouble" in all it's glory,
Meant everything to me.
And though I no longer speak it,
And all hope is gone it seems,
Believe me, not one day goes by,
When you aren't in my dreams.
I sit again cross-legged now,
Swaying to and fro.
On my swing, alone as always,
The safest place I know.

Where peace has always found me,
On the wings of wind's soft touch,
For a time I thought that it was free,
But in truth, it cost so much.

The leaves, they fall around me,
Flowers bloom to die again,
I hear the sounds of living somewhere,
But my swing is where I've been.

A few hands did try to shake me,
But I rocked so out of fear,
Of where leaving just might take me,
So I chose to just stay here.

But the boards, they are now creaking,
From the weight of courage lost.
Yes, I used to think my peace was free,
But I know now what it cost.

It cost me the love and cost me the joy,
Hope strived so hard to bring.
And no peace can be found in that,
Not even on this swing.
I don't know where to start - perhaps the beginning is my best bet.
Although I'm not sure if I should start with the "beginning" of my life or just the misery yet.
I write these cliche rhymes to distract from my mental chaos,
To veil the scattered thoughts for which I am at a loss.
Should I explain how at 34 years old I have yet to find true love.
Or how I'm stuck in a hellish job which I'm sick and tired of?
or that I am proud and ashamed of my family at the same time.
or how I worry that I have missed my calling & that I'm past my prime.
Is this the proper venue to SCREAM for a helping hand?
Am I alone in this jungle of inner battles in this foreign land?
Foreign because I don't know who I've become,
don't understand the language in my head, where these surroundings came from.
Makes no sense to you because you don't know my history
Even to me my ramblings are a mystery.
My brain shoots thoughts like comets to the page.
Flashes of light in my mind, Lightning streaks, trampling like a rampage.
How can I feel so capable & confident
and at the same time helpless & insecure?
How can I write so many words
and say nothing.....

© 2012 Cindy Quick
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