I feel heavy,
Dragged down,
Sucked into a pit.
My head aches,
Thoughts in a tangle,
Completely congested.
No struggle down there,
Stony silence –
Destroys my calm alright.
Damp, dark acid
Floods my throat,
No breathing possible.
A moment of panic –
Should I hold back?
No. Not even I can stomach you.
© jsmorgane (Nov 09)
Does it look like
Twelve coloured pictures on a wall,
And 52 pages with numbers to call?
And is it a circle divided by four,
Showing cardinal points, the elements and all?
Two lists of people come with the tide,
Of those just born and those who died.
But maybe a year’s a butterfly,
A rose, a twig, a yellow leaf,
Or shows itself as yet
Another wrinkle in my face.
It looks just like a bag of tears,
And like a secret sold.
Looks like a child, a man,
A woman, young and old.
It’s also in the many smiles,
Returned a hundredfold.
And when I pass a mirror
And catch the person’s eye,
I see that I’m the year, that I am life.
© jsmorgane (June 2010)
Strike a match and light the candle,
Gaze into the cheerful flame.
Find the blue, the darker part,
And the wick’s tip brightly gleaming.
See it widening, opening, splitting,
Parting like a sea of fire
To reveal what lies between
The candle flames.
Find the hidden path of tears,
Follow down the winding way,
Pass onwards through the fire…
…beyond all measured time…
Then stand your feet
Firm upon the ground,
And commit to memory
What you have heard and seen,
Striving to retain the ken of
Passing through the flame.
© jsmorgane (June 2010)
