I am too close
to the ever-pressing silence
that dominates the mood of my life.
Eerie jackals pass me in the hall
hungry
for a taste.
Blank stares and quiet skies
interlude
with an electric hum.
Why do I cringe?
at the thought of a
multitude of realities -
My jungle has no king.
Tender flesh exposed
most delicate in your countenance
I don't know your name
and there are too many of you
to begin with, so I can't end.
Impressions upon the mind
carved deep
with chisel and talon
Release me from this depth
too thick, like a humid morning
with an empty white sheet
staring back across the way.
That quiet sky speaks
no more as I wander
near the shore
Thunderous emptiness
rumble and control me
In the distance, an echo
returning from my silence.
I am too close.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
I am too close
to the ever-pressing silence
that dominates the mood of my life.
Eerie jackals pass me in the hall
hungry
for a taste.
Blank stares and quiet skies
interlude
with an electric hum.
Why do I cringe?
at the thought of a
multitude of realities -
My jungle has no king.
Tender flesh exposed
most delicate in your countenance
I don't know your name
and there are too many of you
to begin with, so I can't end.
Impressions upon the mind
carved deep
with chisel and talon
Release me from this depth
too thick, like a humid morning
with an empty white sheet
staring back across the way.
That quiet sky speaks
no more as I wander
near the shore
Thunderous emptiness
rumble and control me
In the distance, an echo
returning from my silence.
I am too close.
Written more than fifteen years ago - March 25th, 1998 to be exact - this poem is one of the ones I'm most proud of, and resonates deeply with me right now, as I struggle with depression, anxiety, and PTSD.
I am sure that it could use some editing, but I don't have the heart to desecrate it right now (though I DO welcome constructive criticism)
Strange that I was still a teenager when I wrote this, and it speaks volumes to me as a grown woman.
