The Nearest Dream Recedes

To know just how to suffer

Would be dear, dearer than this

Ambiguity of mourning

 

The idea that change is a form of mistrust

Confidence is not legible here

Only spring can bring me now

 

Pods of flame; transformation

For I have suffered separation

Of my most familiar misery

 

That it became my letter to the world

False in the raw hungry voice

That flings itself against the crystal veils

 

Of time, that refuses to learn

Of love, that refuses to heal

To know just how to suffer

 

Would be dear, because to deny adaptation

Is not an art, it's suicide. 

Reviews

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

True words... This might be my favorite write from you to date. A bone breaking, indifferent, beautiful and genius bit of writing. Sets my heart to bleeding...

[Rita L. Sev]

To deny adaptation...is suicide. Astute observation, one that could save a life. A great write.

[Elleannatasha]

Wow. This resonates... God! To learn how to suffer and do it patiently and willingly would be such a gift. Reminds me of a line of prose from The Invitation by Oriah:

I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it