Tuesday, February 10, 2009



Frost chills the air as deep breaths leave clouds around the words that anchored the silence – this wasn’t a challenge – nor a competition – but the division of trust led to the reluctance of love – and here you stand – beyond the reach of arms that could replace the embrace of lonely. This is only a moment – a definition of now – without regret – without remorse – without a care about the cost – the loss – of everything that creates tomorrow – the sorrow becomes the shoulder you borrow to lighten the load, so that burdens seem like feathers, but you begin to implode because you neglect to exorcise the elements that torture your soul – and frost chills the air as deep breaths leave you helpless –

And so you stand alone, crowded by the space that occupies the emptiness that invades your heart – the hard part becomes living when the living becomes giving more of yourself than you have to give…but you live – in a prison – a prison of shame that leaves you isolated from the places you once found familiar – and the sadness becomes the friend that warms the bed you begin to make – and so you take a step forward, but fall short of the walk – you try to make a new start and get lost in the dark – this is the art of knowing life – blind, you survive because faith is your guide – the eyes that you owned only offered lies, so you donated them to that sadness friend - so that you could pretend that this is bliss – but pretending doesn’t end the ambivalence
And frost chills the air as the ice sets in – the parts that were whole become frost bitten – and you begin to forget the deception – you start looking for a light in the dark places where you lost your sight…but the frost continues to cloud your view – and blinded still, you continue – in darkness, in doubt, without love, your faith gives out.



The end of suffering begins with surrender – and so you do, and you feel renewed – the frost dissipates in the warmth of the sun. You have become – you have become the charmed flower child basking in the spring – this … this is the end of suffering.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I like this poem. I really can relate to the words on a personal level. How long does it take for you to crank these out? Ever think about writing songs?

Stoney