2013 – Page 43 – The Word Rummager

And on the 19th day, she wept
Not for joy or anguish
but for the myriad emotions
swirling in her core

Barely a month ago it had begun
Then she found herself at sea
and strangely at ease
amid possibility

Newness holds promise
For there is no taint yet
to mar the smooth edges
or show any wear

She felt every crease in her being
Saw the roughness of her exterior
felt the stain deep inside
while plastering over it all with fakery

There are no steel coverings
To hide some hurts
renovating only helps
when it lies close to the surface

Only a few handfuls of days
Held the story of them
from glow to burnout
so why so much pain

When an idea takes root
And is stronger than memory
the gaping whole
is poignant for its brevity

Imagination improves on memory
Memory gets clouded by time
time heals many wounds
but it all still remains somewhere

She felt bereft
Yet was glad for the 19 days
she would keep that time close
tucked away in her mind

You can’t deny me now
Not after I’ve come so far
Through murky waters
Filled with leeches and vipers
Through dark forests
With echoes of strange creatures
When all I want
Need
Crave
Is the small patch of skin
Where you loosen your tie
And your neck and chest meet
With the whorls of hair
Tickling my nose
I just want a taste
And a place to rest my head there.

Spill onto the page with ramblings your heart has led you to trip over
Grammar rules don’t apply here-
Screw punctuation!!
Only words that rip and tear you apart until you’re bloody and empty are welcome
Only when you stop beating yourself up can you let go and take up the pen instead
Only when despair is poured out can the soul be at rest
The empty vessel can again partake
The body revels in the base nature with which we’re all born
The defilement reaches an impasse
Until feeling overwhelms
And ideas form yet again
Unleashing rage, fear, lust on the page
With no one to blame or turn to
With no censure or false pretenses
With nothing but joy in expression
No relief except by your own hand
No gain or loss except existence
No wrong way to write.

hiding in one of the few places left
holding some shred of hope I won’t be found
losing track of days and even seasons
the only light comes from something pale and green
maybe an animal’s eyes
how many other predators are nearby
am I the only prey?

too many nights form a kaleidoscope
with too many tears blurred
by too many days
thoughts are jumbled
not making sense
only getting through this hour
is of paramount importance

shallow breaths
filling up the tight space
no place to turn
choices are bleak
if I could
where would I go
is there such thing as escape?

The wonderful folks at Writers Haven have published a few more of my poems. Take a moment to check it out along with some of the other wonderful features on their site.

“We are proud to associate with the poet Word Rummager who has sent us the Immaculate Collection of poems. She has been a regular contributor of both poems and short stories. This month’s poems are astounding.”

http://original-writer.com/verse/poetrywriting62word.html