A poem in three parts

This is the foetal position we sometimes find ourselves in - that Dark Night of the Soul - before coming through to the light.

In December I crept in,
falling over
myself.
Opening and closing �"
peeking out at the sultry
signs of life I would not touch.
The white wall in my room
was blank
and its barrenness reminded me of me.

It watched me cry in a coiled
shape like a baby, waiting to be born.
It watched me like a cave
watches the hunted.

I turned 30 looking for an explanation.
Hiding
from breath beneath
thought
and beneath that,
my unearthing.

And I hated this white wall
for have nothing to say. No sign
of success, no holy
note. Just
a barricade.

In May,
to this white empty wall,
my Persephone bore
angst. Her paintbrush bent, as Hades
licked my cheeks
tapping at my brow
to
remind me what I
could have been.
And
that white wall with
bricks bigger than my head
sometimes
stuck out tricks for staying down.

Well I had prayer
and pills,
power’s last crumbs.
And I took time
to mend.
Much time indeed,
but I did. Sailing
into September’s spring
blue.
Hummmmmm-
ing
tunes
of love and resurrection.

Reviews

[Derek Nall]

Enjoyed this very much...love the ending!