Truth And Intimacy (A Poet’s Lot, A Poet’s End)

flotsam
I can point to problems and offer no helpful solutions/ i can feign resolve while living in abject dissolution/ i can be smothered in fragrant aromas to veil my pollution/ i am bitter/ i am angry/ i am seething/ i am nothing good/ of no good use to anyone/ soul proprietor of every ill conceived, fractured, useless, new year’s resolution…/ devoid of commitment or substance/ while substance abusive/ sequestered from self in self imposed reclusion/ Left on my own nothing good may come of me/ i am a waking nightmare/ resident of a blank stare/ a foggy view upon mist kissed glass/ becoming clearer/ reluctantly drawing nearer to/ the part of me i can’t bear to look at/ heraldic nomenclator emerging through a mirror/ a messenger who doesn’t know his purpose/ haunted by a view imprinted from underneath/ of idling feet treading waters deep/ while rising from out of the depths of despair/ now I to I/ with flotsam and jetsom on the surface/ one day totally lost/ one day completely found/ caught flat footed/ yet somehow more aware of stumbling stones… and the curvature of the ground/ and the circles within … intrinsic circles swirling like a tempest/ expanding exponentially/ within cycles of suggestions/ from a nucleus perspective/ a bird’s I view/  whilst self absorbed in cathartic cocoons/ still missing clear commands/ given a lifeboat… / yet still living as if marooned/ how selfish can it be?/ knowing i have not yet begun to share the deepest parts of me where You dwell/ for fear… of what might emerge from out of… so once fractured… a shell/ there is a way that pulls at us and never tires/ there is a Truth we should yell/ there is a Life that is worthy/ gifted a journey to walk/ a story to tell/ that only a trail of tears may convey/ and that words be they superfluous or succinct/ to those who cannot yet hear…/ have not yet been opened to receive/ despite our many works/ our many deeds/ most diligent earnest efforts/ without Grace…/ are doomed to miserably fail/ and yet from through a mysterious veil/ a tender whisper clear emergent / not a shout/ small…still…yet…/ unmistakably urgent/ a touch unfelt belies a cup unseen being filled nonetheless/ is a restoring breath like a subtle flame/ / kindling hearts/ that shall prevail.
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One thought on “Truth And Intimacy (A Poet’s Lot, A Poet’s End)

  1. being filled nonetheless. deposits of grace. elected although stupid and often thankless. US.

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