Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I sat curled up in the closet, my knees tucked up into my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around them. The more pain I felt, the tighter I clutched my knees to my chest, my fingernails digging into my skin, breaking it, hoping, with my blood, to make the hole stop throbbing, stop hurting, if only for a few minutes, a few seconds. The throb subsided, dulled, but didn’t go away. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as another aching sob built deep in my chest, threatening to explode any second. The pressure built, higher and higher in my throat, the pain pushing its way to the surface, looking for a way out. My stomach tightened and convulsed as the sob broke surface, screaming out of my chest like a freight train, allowing the whole world to be privy to my most private pain, privy to the anguish that comes from losing something so dear to you that, when it goes, it takes a piece of your soul, and all of your heart, with it. As the last of my air escaped, my sob turned into a soft, pathetic whimper, like that of a dog sitting at the door when his Master leaves. Depleted of that life-giving substance, oxygen, my body and mind did that automatic thing: breathing. Air ripped through my mouth and down to my lungs, digging its wicked claws into the walls of my throat its entire way. A soft inward whine echoed up from the abyss of my chest just before my lungs were again filled to capacity and another sob burst forth, screaming my agony to the dark walls of the closet I had sheltered myself in.

Eventually, like always, numbness came. It worked its way up through my limbs, a sweet coolness working its way through my burning body. It started in my toes and feet, the furthest and therefore already dullest part of me. Its icy fingers began to massage their way up my ankles and calves next, pausing at my knees to work through the weakness there. I began to feel it work its way up my fingers next, cooling the burn that had been left by her fingers. It followed the paths that she used to trace up my arms, feeling nothing like her fingers’ tender caress. It moved its way up my thighs, chasing the paths her lips used to pursue on their way to my tender core, icing the burns left there. The ice flowed past my elbows, up my biceps, to my shoulders, still following her lips. Up my stomach and abs, along my ribs, over my chest, it searched out the heart that was no longer there. Its icy fingers took a firm hold of my chest and continued their ascent, up my neck and along my chin, gently caressing my cheeks, my nose, playing gently through my hair. And finally, the face, her face, that had been haunting me since I’d stepped into that closet, was frosted over and replaced with the grey haze that meant that I was able to unwrap my arms from around my knees and stand again.

I stood, then, and let myself out. I went to stand in front of the sliding glass door. It was sunrise. I’d sat in there another full night, hiding from the memory of her, hiding from her face, from everything that reminded me of her. I sighed and returned my attention to the sunrise. It was ablaze with oranges and reds and yellows, fire working its way across the sky, flames dancing in the sunrise clouds, heralding a new day. The light was streaming in through the windows, the hopeful light of yet another day. A soft breeze was playing through the aspens that were planted in strategic locations in the sidewalk five stories below. A woman jogged past, dressed in the typical black spandex sweatpants with white stripes running down the sides, accompanied by a tight tank top that revealed far more of the silicone masses, that her stock-broker husband no doubt paid for with his far-too-large Christmas bonus, than was truly necessary for a morning jog. His bonus probably paid for that nose-job that she was sporting as well. I wondered briefly why she was running. I was sure that her husband could probably afford liposuction for her. She jogged around the corner, taking my brief distraction with her, and I was left to ponder the sun rising on yet another day.

I looked around my room, seeing and not seeing the faceless picture frames lining the walls, their emptiness a shadowy reflection of my soul. A soft rage suddenly erupted from somewhere deep inside of me and I found myself tearing the empty frames from their perches upon the wall. Her face stared up at me from the empty, shattered glass that littered the floor. Her eyes haunted me in my rage as I trampled the broken glass, pulling my hair and screaming at the top of my lungs, wordless screams of anguish. My unclad feet began to drip blood onto the glass, hiding the green that was staring up at me, making her flee from the pools of glass that lay strewn upon the floor.

I turned my attention back to the sunrise. Opening the door, I stepped out onto the balcony. A sunrise this beautiful might have once moved me to tears, but the numbness was as paralyzing as it was relieving. All and any emotion was gone. My life was devoid of meaning now. I climbed onto the railing and steadied myself. I waited for the nausea and vertigo that normally came with heights to come, but it didn’t. I looked down, gazing at the sidewalk five stories below. The wind swept up, catching my hair in its grasp, and making me wonder for the first time what it would be like to fly. I spread my arms, my wings, and allowed the warm morning breeze to wash over them. It had a warming effect on my numb body, breaking the ice that had just recently formed all over my body. Her face came back into focus, obscuring the view of the street and the sidewalk below.

My mind, so tattered and torn with grief, brought me back to our last morning together. We had been up most of the night before, making love, our bodies moving in perfect synchronicity throughout the night until they had finally arched in ****** together leaving us sleeping peacefully in each others’ arms. Somehow, we’d still woken up with the sunrise, a blazing red and orange one, much like the one that I was staring at now. She had looked at me with a passionate fire burning in her eyes, softened by a tenderness in her cheeks, and told me that she loved me, that she wanted to stay with me forever. Our fingers entwined, I looked in her eyes and told her that nothing would make me happier. Our lips met then, our tongues entwining and our pulses racing as our bodies moved as one.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, finally allowing myself to succumb to my memories, the happy ones she and I had made during our time together. I held onto them, allowing them to cushion me as only her love could.
Standing at the station,
Midnight on the clock,
Ticks Ticking, Heart racing,
Fingers dialing…
Voicemail.
Again and again I try to no avail.
Why do you not answer?
Why do you leave me in the dark to wonder?

If you thought of me that little.

A horn blaring in the distance,
Breaking me from my trance,
A noise getting closer and closer with every tick on the clock.
My fingers are trembling,
Heart pounding,
Though you wouldn’t know,

That my train is almost here.

The train pulls into the station,
Blowing puffs of cool white smoke,
A train unlike any other,
One not meant for the journey of another,
No, it is simply for me.
My hopes and dreams idle in the passenger seats,
Waiting for me.
The conductor is beckoning for me to board,
Yet,

I freeze in my tracks.

I am unsure what to do.
This is a journey not destined for two,
Time is ticking on that ticking clock,

Do I board or should I make one final call?

These fingers dial numbered buttons one last time,
Heart thudding inside my chest,
I know that this is the final time,
But do you?
I find myself wanting to hear the sound of your voice.

Voicemail.

I gather my things and board this magnificent train.
I will never know why you did not answer,
Why you left me in the dark to wonder.
But I will know this,
It was time that I boarded my own

*Train.
It's based on a piece of advice that I got from a very inspirational person in my life. In the context of our conversation boarding trains were like boarding a relationships. In the last year I've been learning to board my own and discover who I am and who I want to be. That has made all the difference.
ervaring het my beindruk                          experience has impressed me
en die fyn lyne                                             and the fine lines                    
is op my vel                                                  on my skin
ingedruk                                                    ­   pressed

                 as ek die lyne streel                           if i caress the lines
                         om hulle te laat                                 to make them
verdwyn                                                      dis­appear
                word ek bekalm                                                       i become calmed

               ontspanning loer in                                                  relaxation peers in
               soos 'n kleintjie                                                        ­  like a young child
                                          wie 'peek n boo'                                                             who plays
speel                                                           ­                    'peek n boo'

drome spoel                                                            ­      dreams spill
                  soos die trek van                                                       like the pull of
                                     die getye                                                            ­      the tides
'n hele oseaan                                                           ­    a whole ocean
                        van lewe                                                             ­            of life    
                                in die verlede                                                          ­    in the past
en 'n hele oseaan                                                          a­nd a whole ocean
                             wat voor my le                                                               ­ lies before me

niemand kan voorspel                                                      no one can predict
              wat sal gebeur nie                                                              ­  what will happen
                           
                 die lyne in my lewe word getrek                                          the lines in my life are drawn
deur die kunstenaar                                                       ­       by the artist
deur die digter                                                           ­            by the poet
deur die tuinier                                                          ­            by the gardener
© jeannine davidoff 2012
435

Much Madness is divinest Sense—
To a discerning Eye—
Much Sense—the starkest Madness—
’Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail—
Assent—and you are sane—
Demur—you’re straightway dangerous—
And handled with a Chain—
The night ends with the moon light reflecting,
and playing so enchantingly off the lake.
I am taken away by a warm sensation infecting.
This feeling so unreal it almost seems fake.

Now I will pretend for a moment it is not there,
just to relive the joy of its intoxicating effect.
A moment in fantasy, without a pain or care
until it disappears for another to protect.

And once the moment fades it seems,
I will never again feel so blessed.
Maybe once in a dream, one perfect dream,
One rendered not from my head but my chest.

So this tranquility and I may never part,
this moonlit lake will remain in my heart.
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
One of us will never see,
        True light by essence of purity,
        Ever once more
The contamination of one of us,
Has taken, has blinded
The original vision.
        One of us has let it spread,
        To the other, filling dread,
        Infecting and destroying purity,
       Crystallizing something important
       That wasn't to be forgotten
                        Preserving righteousness
                        Through Arrogance
                I must curse you.
                I must thank you.
                            You.
Thoughts from my mind at sixteen years old.
Music flows through the air, like a soul,
Valued as a gift from our divine creator,
A perfect melody designed, to make one feel whole,
With a meaning, scribbled deep upon a scroll,
Swelling up to complete our inner core,
Music flows through the air, like a soul,
Filling up even the deepest dug hole,
Lyrics provide the answers one searches for,
A perfect melody designed to make one feel whole,
Higher and higher the notes tumble and roll,
Through the wind they will flutter and soar,
Music flows through the air, like a soul,
People craving a taste, like chips in a bowl,
Boom Boom Boom, the thunderous music will roar,
A perfect melody designed to make one feel whole,
For that is the artist's dream-weaved goal,
Open up your eyes to it, it is more than a bore,
Music flows through the air, like a soul,
A perfect melody designed to make one feel whole.
This poem was published by Creative Communication: A celebration of Today's Poets, Fall Edition.
Next page