Path to Self

One woman's ongoing account of her journey to understand herself

The Wife

 

his love, never fallen into her

evident to both for long

her non-denial from the onset

hurtful honesty

then, no longer

only at the end

 

no wasted effort on his part

all had to go along his way

 

yet, she, resolute

reared in full idiocy

of accommodating "except for the self

brought up in static obedience

gratifying "except for the self

catering to him incessantly

catering to his household

catering to his profession

catering tirelessly

catering

 

his

ego

grew

more and more

just more and more

as

as were

as were such

as were such growth

as were such growth at all

as were such growth at all possible

 

one day, she was no longer

body intact, surely

yet, she was no longer

she was no

she was

she

 

 

The Beloved

 

My love doesn’t long for another,

for the beloved is in the breath.

Surrenders with zealous fervor,

as the beloved is as was once.

Doesn’t force life onto death,

while the beloved brings a breath.

Doesn’t die with each passing day,

as do those who with ease forget.

 

My love is a promise from the core,

resists time until skins decay;

for the beloved is found anew,

however with a tragic delay.

Submits until the last breath,

without pushing life to death;

doesn’t die day by day,

while still taking in and out a breath.

 

~ ~ ~ Intermezzo ~ ~ ~

 

Clad in yearning once again.

The night passes in vain.

The body seeks its twin

With no single relent.

 

Decades lived apart;

the soul surpasses body.

Desire will no doubt fade.

Still...

The night won’t want to end,

the day won’t want to descend.

 

Clad in yearning once again.

The day comes and goes in haste;

along with memories of roots profound.

As if love had never taken flight,

or two hearts never pulsated as one.

 

~ ~ ~ Intermezzo ~ ~ ~ and, The Self

 

A life of convenience. Over 4000 square feet.

Privileged. Secured. Drawn, his future’s map.

Dark window covers.

Tinted windows.

Dark shutters.

 

Then...

 

There is you.

My love on you;

your love and you;

the skin-tight you.

 

A gift nearby

yet from afar,

where the sun wakes up the sea,

the sea tucks in the sun.

 

Yearning, unceasing…

Yes. Oh yes.

The sun does set

but it rises again.

 

 

Author's Note

One of my poems that is capable only to scratch the surface...still, one of my favorites. Perhaps, you may like it also. Thanks for reading it. If you would be so inclined, I would love suggestions for improvements/changes/deletions/additions.

Reviews

[r. f. jordan]

there are precious layers strewn throughout this piece, which is one of surreal and shifting depth. i received a review about a week ago that spoke to me in myth about how the perception i offer was beyond that of others. this piece dwarfs the piece i'd posted, in its ability to survey the landscape surrounding it as if it were a shepherd on a mountaintop. this is true poetry, and one example of what i hope its author embraces as an energy geared toward fortitude and growth. the varying perspectives, and the hope, are what has charmed me most of all. please be not discouraged when reading the musing of another, all of us have sustenance along our path, and all of us lift with miraculous feet.

[Odayin]

This is one of the best reviews I have ever read. I feel like you really went in depth and understood it great. I'm quite jealous..

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the poem. I like the beginning. Allow the reader to feel the lost of emotion and senses.
"one day, she was no longer
body intact, surely
yet, she was no longer
she was no
she was
she"
No weakness in the poem. Told a powerful story and I like the logic at the end. Thank you for the outstanding poetry.
Coyote