"incomprehensible" poems

#there are the ones that feel it climb up the shadow towards the light, hesitation on every rung, each wave of the arising overwhelms unabated ― and woe betides those who are on the run from a storm's deluge A rousing ocean breeze stirs inside the memory of an unframed seashell lying on the hearth mantel; heightened sensitivity lapping soundlessly, spindrift plashing the shoreline of another world's feigned peace Perhaps the muted voice of guilty pleasures, hushed by their own hidden truths Feeling the unfelt textures of every stifled vibration left unbreathed The naked truth befallen so cold and lonely Running in circles, volatile as all those unspoken excitations raging ― and the whispers of those who hear not the voices in the wind An emotionally enslaved heart tarries, marooned high and dry in a memory on a distant sand bar lain fallow for so long ― stagnant darkness of an unsated soul gathered on the back of a parched tongue sullied wordless Rising up through a dusty hieroglyph corridor through an unlocked labyrinth gate; vestige echoes from somewhere left behind in an incomprehensible abandoned wake It's getting harder and harder for an insatiable soul to breathe ... climbing up a tree trunk― up within the silence of the listening tree Toes dug into the rough bark furrows ― fingers reaching upwards beyond their deepest known grasp A shadow stranded out on a hangin' bough hearkening without ears that hear: “perhaps they’ll listen now“ the wingless bird sings in psalms that fly away on tattered feathers over untamed waters roil Back to nature’s waning youth, the bough bends unbroken to taste the freedom of the wild absolving seas Jesse Stillwater June 2018

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Jul 12, 2018

Jul 12, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC

jesse-stillwater

"Perhaps they never will ..."

#there are the ones that feel it climb up the shadow towards the light, hesitation on every rung, each wave of the arising overwhelms unabated ― and woe betides those who are on the run from a storm's deluge A rousing ocean breeze stirs inside the memory of an unframed seashell lying on the hearth mantel; heightened sensitivity lapping soundlessly, spindrift plashing the shoreline of another world's feigned peace Perhaps the muted voice of guilty pleasures, hushed by their own hidden truths Feeling the unfelt textures of every stifled vibration left unbreathed The naked truth befallen so cold and lonely Running in circles, volatile as all those unspoken excitations raging ― and the whispers of those who hear not the voices in the wind An emotionally enslaved heart tarries, marooned high and dry in a memory on a distant sand bar lain fallow for so long ― stagnant darkness of an unsated soul gathered on the back of a parched tongue sullied wordless Rising up through a dusty hieroglyph corridor through an unlocked labyrinth gate; vestige echoes from somewhere left behind in an incomprehensible abandoned wake It's getting harder and harder for an insatiable soul to breathe ... climbing up a tree trunk― up within the silence of the listening tree Toes dug into the rough bark furrows ― fingers reaching upwards beyond their deepest known grasp A shadow stranded out on a hangin' bough hearkening without ears that hear: “perhaps they’ll listen now“ the wingless bird sings in psalms that fly away on tattered feathers over untamed waters roil Back to nature’s waning youth, the bough bends unbroken to taste the freedom of the wild absolving seas Jesse Stillwater June 2018