I Brushed My Hand Across What You Said

I brushed my hand across what you said
then remembered
the exact moment I discovered
my favorite hiding place
where my heart could take deep breaths
and move away from the shadows
speaking as echoes across my mind.
I could feel them move far, far away
from my beating heart
taking me to heights
where I could escape to a better place,
I thought I'd never find.

The deepest pain.....all the hurt I feel,
becomes trivial in this journey
where I define myself
and rises above my existence
here in the solitude
I find
within this hiding place.
Here, my heart becomes softly addicted
to leaving behind
the complications which cling
to the railings
of all my inspiration
when I attempt to write
the song of a nightingale
and every bad memory.........
erase.

Author's Note

*Artist Danielle Richard

Reviews

[Clockwork]

This poem is full of yearning to define the self and I think it accomplishes that. I think the most poet idea in this poem comes in these lines: "when I attempt to write/the song of a nightingale." I think they would make a great title for a new poem. They are really bold unique statements with a lot of meaning to them, and you could really take them anywhere. They are a whole poem in and of themselves.

[Lily Mae]

This has me in tears...so much of what you shared lives and breaths in my own heart.. You always get nail the emotions in a raw and intense yet beautiful way..xo

[MOON]

Poignant the railings of all my inspiration so well said . A favourite hiding place of calm and inspiration . Beautiful as usual Neva . Sometimes writing is the only place where we can hide from pain of the past.

[Larry Dyson]

hmmm simple question not to challenge but just wondering...the use of song of a nightingale...if i wrote it I believe I would choose the less used tome of the" silent noise of the owls swooshing navigation of the forest in the dark of a glorious coming dawn" this is' what you wrote' is birthing in My Muse..

[lee von cleef]

words addiction,to slip their arms warm and strong,cupping your soul,a thrush no more now a flycatcher, new world old world chats.Shelley,

"A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.”

Poets and nightingales ,their own drummers. "I brushed my hand across what you said" good line after good line.

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

This is a journey we all would like to vanish into! This was a beautiful poem! Loved it!

[Leigh]

Beautiful

[smurfett]

Beautiful write! If only it could be so simple sometimes. You can almost feel the hurt and sadness just lift away like a balloon filled with helium. Up, up and away!

[Pax]

beautiful!
"my favorite hiding place"
~ this hiding place can be anything.. anything that will push away the bad memories replaced by the joyous memories of this place... i really like this, a very wonderful piece.... great work my friend.