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Consolation from a Lovely Spirit
Often, it’s difficult to even throw a glance
Into the reflection of my mother’s old hand mirror
To watch the ripples of light cast shadows over my portrait
After having dreamt of a band of angels
And having held their glowing faces
In my trembling hand
Upon waking, I lose reality
Upon seeing the sunlight, I close my eyes
I begin to stutter my answer
To their inquiry into my well-being
Only to drop my gaze
For it to shatter on the stone of the floor
And for me to weep
In earnest
Yet there she stood
In the puddles which the rainy days left behind
She tells me that she wouldn’t blame me
If I fell into her eyes
Reaching out for our hands to entwine
She says:
Leap into my arms
I will shield your precious eyes
From what will steal your mind
And carry you to a place
Where you can open your heart
Without fear
And sing
Without hesitation
Sleep never came last night
And the yellow radiance of the moon was too bright
So I sat in the loft
Reading my palm
By the glow of a little bedside lamp
My head ached
Whenever it met the softness of a pillow
So I tried to compose an epitaph
While my body complained of an ongoing fever
In the passion of my delirium
I had hoped
That Grandmother Death would come to visit me
In my waking dreams
Like that babbling woman
Whose murmurs shook the roots
Of immortality
But that old spirit who I had learned to love
Never knelt before me
To let my burning lips
Encounter her wrinkled cheek
I glimpsed her pale profile in my bedroom window, once
But when I pressed my nose against the glass
I could only see
A flickering light in the neighbor’s yard
I never could decide
What it meant
And now
Beneath that pink and orange sky
I pray to the LORD and the bumblebee
The soft petals of an Iris flower
Between my fingers
And beads of thought
Hanging onto the tips of my eyelashes
I never did die
And I never did see
But I tried to write my poems honestly
I scrawled them on the backs of old love letters
But they always ended up eaten up in the fireplace
Crinkling in the heat
I am beginning to think
That the throbbing of the clouds
Is really a heartbeat
And perhaps the silence which answers
My plea for her to return to me
Is really somebody’s voice
Whispering:
Leap into my arms
I will shield your precious eyes
From what will steal your mind
And carry you to a place
Where you can open your heart
Without fear
And sing
Without hesitation
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This article has 26 comments.
On another note, Raven, I'm curious to know what you would do, confronted with an empty canvas and tubes of paints; how would you complete it?
Wonderful, because people so often forget that they may find freedom in what the Earth has to offer every day. What a marvellous thing to hold a party in celebration of.
However things change, whoever changes, there will always be an unchanged element at their core. That, at least, comforts me when I'm afraid to lose the way things used to be.
I'm becoming, I think, more raw. I'm whittling myself down to bare emotion and humanity, so that the world may flow through me more freely. Perhaps I'm not showing it properly on here, but what I'm trying to do, I suppose, is become more of a Star Person. A noble aspiration, do you think?
And in the wishing will you find those things delivered unto you.
Of course you have the power to make someone happy; you've already taken part in securing the happiness of yours truly. :)
Yes, perhaps that is it. I watched her rise, once last summer, during a party to celebrate her return, that is now one of my favorite memories, and I know that many other people appreciated the opportunity to slow down and just watch something in nature unfold.
I have had many people change on me, but in entirely different circumstances than you have, I feel that your changing is more of a sort of growth, rather than what it usually seems to be.
I am so glad :)
I have said that I am never the same person I was five minutes ago, and it is unfair to think that does not apply to other people, nor is it fair to assume that change is always bad.
Yes, though I hope you know that it is not required :)
Maybe she hid to show that her coming isn't as holy when it's expected; she is a goddess of her own mind, I suppose.
The gift, as you hopefully know by now, has claimed an eternal abode in my heart of hearts. Thank you, dear one.
I see, I see.
And what do you think of them?
She hid from us again last night, though we eagerly celebrated and awaited her unveiling, but that is okay, She is absolutely the most beautiful orb I have ever seen either way.
I do not feel as if I know you so well anymore, you don't quite fit anymore. I look forward to knowing you all over again.
Love-induced insomnia! A pretty thing indeed.
Yeah, the delirium wrote the poem, I guess. What kept me writing it was the 'lovely spirit' who would end the pain.
Is Azula the blind earth-bender?
The Moon can be shy sometimes, yes. And yet, just last night she was so bold! I went out into my yard to visit her, and she had just leapt from the edge of the world, yellow and pale as a ghost. When I returned later, she was waiting quietly but confidently with a herd of little stars in the center of Heaven. I talked with her for a long while.
I am changing. How did you know? So in tune with the world, thou art. As I roll down the hill, I gather the moss in my hands; it is just the stuff from which I weave my robe.
That they are. Sunflowers and I have a history, of a colorful nature. My dear Stargirl, I want the gift very much, as much as the flowers want the Sun.
