It’s in my soul—
Like flesh pierced
By the glass-shaped pain
Sharp and raw.

Nobody knows how to help

I try to remove
the shattered memories
Each shard
Lacerating my insides,
Touching my spirit,
Echoing in my bones.

A ****** mess, I get more hurt.

Everything I touch—
stained
with overflowing emotions
Red, intense, thick
Heavy—  

It’s a deeper wound
Larger than myself
It keeps cutting
It keeps tearing
My hope

Finally the sun has come out from behind the clouds to dry my wet cheeks. A gentle breeze hums through the trees and the sound of a blackbird singing anchors me in the moment. My heart is grateful for this green buffer of solace amidst a world gone crazy. Whilst the angry mobs, baying for blood, stalk the streets of a crumbling power hungry paradigm, there are glimmers of light appearing on the horizon as many more souls gather in love to dance to the beat of a different drum.

Once again I feel myself dwelling on the margins, quietly retreating to the edges to join my witchy ancestors, watching and waiting for the storm to pass.

My bones hold the memories of the burning times as I sink into the quiet earth and the cool wind caressing my skin brings some relief. Walking on the razors edge of longing for connection and needing to lie low, to hunker down in the one place I can feel safe, alone.

Around me I see signs of the storm passing and new buds appearing with the promise of another flowering and harvest to come. In the warm evening light, that kisses the tips of the leaves, a gentle smile wraps itself around my heart and a glimmer of hope returns. ‘This too shall pass’, the wind whispers, ‘this to shall pass’…

You can't heal under a mask
Wounds need air
So do secrets
Both are hard to hide

The red rose he gave,
still inside my favorite book.
Frozen in time, just like me.
The marathons he runs inside my mind,
leaving me battered and bruised.
Bruises that I'll carry for an eternity, undefined.

i used to wince at the thought of him with another soul
now i convince myself, this is how its suppose to be
so that i don't loose control.

If only the time would do its trick. Like
how it turns tragedies into distant memories,
how it alters warm springs into icy autumns,
and how often it made empires rise and fall.
It can easily make blemishes fade.
Still, my wound remains unhealed.

I broke.

I once wanted one.
A dad.
A true father.
To his heart,
to his wife,
and his family.
What I got was another.

Swallowed by suffering,
his silence
suffocating a dream.
His?
Mine?

Lost and adrift
and slowly
buried
by his past.

Now father.
Dad.
I alone have to stand.
For my youth
long since passed.
Stand for my kids, my wife,
and yearning
for the heart, the Soul
of my Self.

For the boy who’s walked alone,
who still lives with me.
So that the pain can rise,
Can breach the surface
and let loose
the storm
for a sweet burial song.
  
All this
so he can once again
Remember
what love is.

A far away memory,
Whispering in my ear,
A quiet spirit,
Begging me to hear.

A fallen soldier,
In the midst of war,
Screams in cold agony,
And longs to be warm.

She is left there,
Dying all alone,
She cries in the silence,
And dreams of being home.

I walk along a path,
I hear her silent tears,
I run to her aid,
As her end draws near.

She looks up with her eyes,
I wipe tears from her face,
I bandage all her wounds,
She smiles as we embrace.

Some time seems to pass,
Her cuts not fully healed,
But she's doing so much better,
Than she was that fateful year.

time bombarded me wiht its silence today, the sky was closer, birds more transparent. maybe because of the intersection of wonder and scream. once I was one with my wounds. I had thoughts without spin today, only the wounds of the world spinning in the distance. the impossible mixture of blood dust shattered bricks, death is so ignorant, so messy. you used to smile when you saw me eating blueberries naked. in the core of trees there is silence, isn't it? in the core-self there is an emptiness full of antiwords, isn't it?

Can you call?

When voices are lost,
And nothing but silence echoes

Truly, it is too much-
To love with your all, it takes a cost
At the expense of yourself, you let go

Rear cheek,
And rob the moment of any frost,
Recompense, in word and not wound

What a world it could be,
If we weren't so self consumed.

do you think life will ever
give us a chance
or rather
the privilege:
to redeem ourselves,
to forgive our wounds,
to walk toward happiness?