Hedges of Her Space Guarding Her Peace

 

I was making my way through a feracious jungle,
Each step sinking into the cold earth,
Parasites leeching off my back,
Vines tangled around ankles,
Thorny weeds leaving scars,
Sly wanderers wearing faces.

I take in the oh-so-sweet fruits
Handed to me in my face,
Which briefly satiate
To only wound from the inside.
At a lush green desert,
In abundance suffocating.

I neglect to notice an oasis,
The refuge right next to me,
And a soothing tree in the middle of it,
With a story not unlike my own:

***

At the tail end
Of the first week of September,
Had her noble seedling sprouted.

Here she developed:
Pricked and shaken,
Barely a whimper,
In a state of late bloom;

She kept her petals shut,
Locked away and stuck,
In search of a light.

With roots gripping the earth frail,
Asking for one drop to be spared,
She dared to simply take
A breath of air.

While she beat herself up,
For the lack of things forsaken,
With the sight of flowering plants
Hoarding the sky above,
Came a need for a hustle, to catch up.

In the shadow with personal clouds,
She pondered and observed;
What is the right way to navigate this world?

A weightless calm and a frantic dread,
That both may well accompany drifting afloat?
Versus standing, shoulders broad,
On the one hand chained to a wall?

In a cyclical motion through the spiral.
Progress with each setback.
Tired exhales became her breath.
Tears her dew.
Reflections light.

A process to take gloom
And convert it to exude bloom.
With perseverance through blows & qualms,
She came to wisdom.

A humble, keystone of a tree.
Spreading fruits for more trees to be;
Her embracing branches, and breezy leaves,
Just her presence in itself became an oasis.

Now, to her who became the sun to light this lone lune;
In order to bare and make sense of
The thoughts bouncing around inside my head,
I reach out from my cage the only way I know how,
And leave these vague echoes of things bubbling in my chest;
A serenade to My muse or you:

***

When the shattered pieces of
My heart were piercing my lungs,
When the grasp I had on myself
Was losing its grip,
Only you looked beyond the mask of doubts
Before through my fingers it all slipped.

And then, distance be damned,
Reached out a hand,
To pull me up
From the other side of the globe;
Brought warmth to my soul,
Gave me strength to bear the cold,
The will to keep up hope.

When I was losing all I had,
When I couldn’t even trust
What was in my head and chest,
You showed that
The arduous path I was on
Had purpose and destination yet.

I; lost among my mistakes,
You saw care, safety,
And not a single error instead.

As for me, when I look at you,
A snug presence to calm one’s nerves,
Relieve worries,
Soothe cuts and burns,
Always radiating from within,
Is all I see.

So when it was time that
You needed a hand to stay upright,
A voice to drive away noise,
Or a confidant,
I was very glad to requite.

What a fulfilling thought;
To hear the laughter,
Feel the gentle gaze,
See the joyous face,
Of someone you care about.

I thank you,
On behalf of those who silently appreciate;
For to this world, simply who you are
Is of boundless value.

And for me, too.

Small Things

 

A bunch of people bright

Like the sun that chases

Away the night and stormy clouds,

Like the mattress waiting at home

To lessen the weight of the longest day,

Or the blanket you hold on to when

All that is needed is the solace

Of a quiet embrace.

The Buffet

A drop hits the ground:
A culmination of darkened clouds
Trapping the sunshine behind.
Rumbling thunder of deafening volume
Drowning out the reasonable mind.
Wetness running down your skin.
It is not raining.

Before the floodgates can open,
As you wait in anticipation,
The flow is cut by disgust
From your dark reflection.

You walk, and walk,
To stop only for regret’s short freezes,
Walk until your feet bleed,
Until irritation transcends the trance.

Among a fog so mild yet blinding,
Where one becomes exposed invisible,
Where hope can no longer find you
And neither can you.

You walk into the only light in view
Which may have any promise of
Dissolving this mist filling your lungs
And crushing you under its weight:

The doors ajar, lined before you,
Anything from the classics
To the most terrific and brutal:
What an alluring buffet!

Hanging below a bright chandelier,
Pull up a chair.
Think; this one looks simple, yet,
Would require skill to suceed.
Let’s check over there?

Lean over into the lobster tank,
Calling to you empty and serene,
Surely, this would fill you up
In your chest with sensation
Like you so crave.

What about the candies?
In all manner of sizes and shapes round,
And easy to swallow lots and lots!
But of course, wouldn’t be ideal if
Instead of helping you reach the finish,
Taking them made you ache and sit
With shame under fluorescent lights.

Taking a page from
The chocolate fountain could work.
Its layers rising high and tall.
From top to the bottom,
So smooth like it’s not even flowing,
Save for the occasional splat.

At last, you reach the carving station.
Each cut made with anticipation and remorse.
But don’t let them see you too much!
Otherwise they might look with pity
At you for being unable to hold back.

Then, maybe it’s best to be decisive.
Cut big and deep so you don’t
Come back for more.
Just let the juices flow out as you
Drop the knife and go drowsy.

Then maybe,
Just maybe,
You can finally go
Believing
To be true those dreams
you always hate having to
wake up
from