Disproportion

It’s like I no longer fit in myself

Time, a most careless container

Nothing is right since you’ve left

Feels like I’m too constricted now

My bindings of life are too tight

It becomes hard to breath or even

Mutter out your name in silence

Causing my eyes break into tears

Revisiting memories, we’ve shared

Laughters in undeniable triumphs

Hearing every single conversation

Back to the moment of your birth

Emptiness, a wayward companion

When your soul has lost someone

Grief oft feels like I’m… imploding

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Ma fille

I question if absent mindedness

Has been that lingering shadow

Nefariously following me around

Like some stalker for broken hearts

That missed the boat for recovering

Since they’ve drifted from normalcy

Remaining on the peripheral of life

Caught between darkest and light

Draining my energy to be- myself

Diverting my thoughts from now’s

Nothing seems to be where I left it

I find things where I least expect

My grief tells me I misplaced you

In that way, I’ve least… expected to

Photo by Gantas Vaiu010diulu0117nas on Pexels.com

Hollow trunk

Its winter and yet I feel no cold

I stand here silently half naked

Why does this fog blanket me so?

Where has my loved Dawn gone?

There are answer I’ll never know

That’s the thing about all nature

Too transient to remain very long

All my years failed to prepare me

For the unexpected of cruel seasons

Lack of heartless to become careless

My aged cover hides scarred grains

All my branches are nearly fruitless

The glorious days have passed away

As horizontal edge draws… ever nearest

Not my photo.

Tight roping

Trauma can leave indelible marks

In our lives as well as on our souls

From early learning, life bestows

Resetting of our moral innateness

Creating built-in gaps for escape

Self-justification to ignore a truth

And most often its triggered by fear

Fear of punishment, fear of our loss

Fear of abandonment or our reality

Gaps- to make our default blind spots

Primarily in relationships, or things

We’ll normally (by default) accept lies

To evade any conflict or internal pain

Or blame ourselves for ill acts of others

Proxy gaslighters protect… loved liars

Note: All trauma is inexcusable abuse.

Photo by Marcelo Moreira on Pexels.com

A cold coming

April- a time of comprehension

That those who hunkered down

Neath winters premature blanket

Will not be returning to us again

Not, in the persona or our lifetime

April- is to remind us life goes on

It perseveres by its own set nature

But it lacks emotions or a heartbeat

Wears no frowned face or a shadow

So much unlike us- left to gardening

Tending new growth of hope to forget

We hide profound pain in ourselves

Like a secret the world mustn’t know

To prevent looking overly… human

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After letters, March 20th~year two

The snow was gently falling this morning, but warmer temperatures lay just over the southern horizon, if- they can convince the current headwinds their unwitting accomplice in delivering radiating sunrays to help melt our seasonal snowflakes. Come to think of it, spring was always your favorite season. I can vividly recall how much you wanted to simply go out and shovel all that white snowy blanket away and wake your sleepy garden of dormant plants. It was almost as if you had a green-shaded soul to match your innate green thumb. How you managed to till and plant all those seedlings, sprouted plants, and evergreens all on your own, still amazes me, even though I shouldn’t be.

You know, I believe there are times when the nature of this mountain also misses you. That ethereal energy we both recognized when we first started living here. Now and then as I sit, even in the wintery mix out on the front approach steps where we’ve chatted for hours and now, I hear in a tender and elusive like cry inside the sounds of winds that meander from the lower riversides, up through the meadows and rocky plateaus just below our ridge line where snowfall is always the deepest of all. I firmly believe this mountain adopted us both, in its own peculiar fashion. And when we lost you, a part of ourselves was lost with you too. I’ve come to believe special places like this mountain can get just as lonely as you or I.

The setting of today’s sun will be crashing just yonder that westerly summit fold soon, but I’ve lost my palette to sit and watch that amberoid disappear all alone anymore. Besides, I’ve still got a few chores to finish up and your kitchen to tidy up after my late supper. Oh, how I miss hearing your voice more than ever, especially while chatting on steps about nothing more important than our shared moments.

Photo by Gianluca Grisenti on Pexels.com

A dove’s flight

Time has nearly ceased to matter to me anymore

It has become an antiquated construct to stem worry

Obtuse footfalls used to be so insensitive to my sleep

When the object was to catch back up in a lost race

I rise and lay down when I damn well, please

I’ve no duty other than heed the moment I do whatever it is I’m doing

Besides, the rest of the world is busy taking care of itself

I immerse myself in those events I avoided a lifetime before

For a plethora of reasons, one of which I was never reason enough to embark

I still haven’t found my perfected self in any of these things

But I do find a deeper sense of awareness, in microseconds now

Along with a clearer measure of acceptance of who I may yet become

Even if I am the only one who will ever learn of it

And that is ok, for me in this… present day

Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

Taxation

Can sequestration really be a choice,

If the alternatives require groveling?

The surrendering of one’s full dignity,

And treated as some unwanted pet?

Or might it be called preservational,

Acting kindly to oneself for a change?

Outside the established expectations,

That any punctuation brings shame?

Or is such hideous treatment prelude,

In a systematic source of vile natures?

Purposely spurring someone to run off

While simultaneously skirting any blame

And causal to someone opting their exile

From a country, they once called… family

Willow

I’ve tumbled within my shadow

Where once I strolled in sunlight

My path, once known, now absent

It too lays beneath this blackness

I feel watery drops upon my skin

Yet, there’re no cloudy skies above

I hear the echoes of my breathing

Greater than I feel my heartbeats

It is not a place, yet it does exist

In its most extraordinary context

I’m unsure if breezes caress me

Or if my thoughts turned rogue

Still, within all my unsteadiness

I’ll move faithfully… in blindness

Six feet back

I see it now, in but my lateness

Warm temperatures for summer

Our smiles where we’ve not sat

Nor admired the garden flowers

Whose scent didn’t excite the bees

Conversation that we’ll miss out on

Oh, how I used to enjoy those times

They’d spill over into looking back

Reminiscent of laughter, we had

In those microseconds of our lives

Never appreciating the real present

In the presence of real life at hand

And we only become acutely hesitant

When we’re the last one left… standing

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

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