Tell It All

Things are going to get weirder before they get normal again.

28 October 2014

24

Tell It. Tell It All

Far and alone and so lonely I wandered, and when my soul left as I lay half-adream,
I knew I was seen by an ocean of eyes high above as new leaves lay above me, a stream
of living astonishment green as the magic of waves meeting land as the land greens with awe.
I just don’t know where I stand unless you hold my hand and that greenness receives our souls raw.
Magic just quivers with living new light each moment we meet, mind or eyes or real words.
Lights are the wings of the rising huge palace of where we have been, as we turn into birds,
wheel round and so tenderly, beautifully circle as waltzes were played in the days we loved best.
I am a soul whose best effort at ghost just keeps reeling out musics that interrupt rest,
but remember the way you kept twining your hands round a fixture, a focus—and now, I can’t sleep.
These are just ranges of waves, all arrayed like far mountain-tops. Picture it: Oceans so deep,
they penetrate land like a flock of flown arrows from boats that just don’t know how far out they all are.
When I come out of false sleep and lie woken, I’ll know I live by the light of one star,
Oceans are gentle and deep as the forests I’ve lived in and wandered through, loved, and hold dear
forever, but oceans still hold what I want and cannot ever have while I hold to one fear:
Death holds dominion—oh no, he does not. He never has, ever. Death holds all the reins.
Child, I am willing to die, and I have been since ever. Death’s my solemn father. The pains
that hurt me so much I kept wanting to halt them? His hand lay easy behind them; as light
as serial Moons through a woman whose beauty was utterly bloody and left her bled white—
though he never saw it; the woman above her kept all of this terrible poisoned blood hid.
Far and alone, I will not keep you waiting. You know you—we all saw what all of us did.
I am alive past the way I am used to. Waves keep on breaking on land, salt and all.
Just you please still hold my hand. I’m nigh useless, but fearlessness still tells my soul to tell all.

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About J

Just poetry, in several forms.
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