Saturday, November 24, 2012

Moving Past Despair

I did not realize how closed up my last marriage had made me. Today I went through and read some of the poetry I had written two years before my divorce and found them to be very dark, melancholy pieces. I hope that I have moved past this. I suppose I probably have to a great extent, since I haven’t written much poetry since then. Here’s this from October of 2007:

What pain to lose love.
Not the act of of losing a loved one
To death or separation,
But the dread—the emptiness, the despair
Of emptying all the love out of the chamber of your heart,
Shutting and locking the door,
And burying the key.
Ask me how it feels to feel nothing.
Test me and see that there is nothing left to give.
It is like the bottom of the sea at its deepest part-
Nothing grows.
Nothing lives.
Nothing ventures.
And light is but an old wives’ tale meant to scare
The ghosts of the deep.

And here, from August 27, 2010--the moment of healing:

I wander out of the desert,
Shielding my eyes to see the clouds on the horizon.
Blessed rain.
Stumbling, I go toward them
Like one mad from the ravages of heat
And wind
And grating sand--
Parched and cracked and red.
How long I had wandered--
and how far
Seeking an oasis of oneness with me--
Yet never finding it.
There is no oasis here.
But there, off in the distance
There are mountains
Filled with dense, heavy, cleansing
Every cell in my body turns toward them
And moves onward.
I feel the first drop
Ever etched in my memory.
It's cool plop on my face
Sends me stumbling backward--
Another comes-then another--
Soon, there is a waterfall from the heavens.
I stand, face upturned
Dancing, dancing
Spinning, jumping, laughing
Revelling in each and every atom of life.
Forgetting about the scorching heat.
Rivers of soft moisture run down my face
Glance off my eyelids
Pour off my chin.
I am liquid.
I am freed.

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