A Map For The Broken Heart Part III: All Love and Innocence Calls Eastward Now

----for/to/from HER--- This poem may seem confusing at first but, actually, it is its simplicity that is so baffling.

 

 

so

generally,

when I lift my pen

from its resting position

next to my empty coffee mug

on my desk,

I try

to invoke,

what normally,

is a reservoir of depressive

negative energy and

channel it from,

what once was,

a slow-beating heart,

to the point it is loaded in the chamber,

of what once was

a gaping void

where my soul had slept.

 

Once

loaded in the chamber,

or

the pit as I'd call it,

I'd shoot it at the speed of

hu-man

down my arm

into the tips of my fingers

through my pen

and etch it onto this paper

like an epitaph etched

effortlessly

onto granite

and into the centuries

to survive

not only its namesake

but he who carved it

into time.

 

I'd sit and

sway and

stand and

pray and

chant and

live and

die a

thousand times

all

while some melancholy tune

captured my

slow-beating heart and nudged it

into trance.

 

Needless to say,

I'd dance and

I'd dance and

I'd dance

trying desperately to

            explode

beyond my finite

prison-like

self-pity soaked frame and

features

until I knew,

we       you      me

are just creatures

locked into ourselves

like safes without keys or combinations,

and through this complicated maze of

searching for selves in silhouettes

dancing down dark-alley walls,

I'd found something.

I'd found

           nothing.

 

But.....

that was until

you showed up,

until you came.

Finally,

what took you so long?

 

Author's Note

Essentially, this is about what feels to be the dying of death and the beginning of life, if that makes sense? The wondering through life hopelessly, aimlessly, until you finally fix your eyes upon what was always too distant to see before. Through all the crap we put ourselves through in life...there she/he comes and now, all of the sudden, when you feel depressed, as is normal, you feel guilty. You feel guilty writing the dark-toned poems that were always so honest and true because now you think "How could I possibly be down and dark when she's so up and bright" and mine, if that makes sense?
I felt necessary to explain in case someone says they're confused by the poem.

Reviews

[Just Manoosh]

This piece of breathes beauty and respect, the reader needs no explaination for there is at least one stanza's that gives the game away:

Once
loaded in the chamber,
or
the pit as I'd call it,
I'd shoot it at the speed of
hu-man
down my arm
into the tips of my fingers
through my pen
and etch it onto this paper
like an epitaph etched
effortlessly
onto granite
and into the centuries
to survive
not only its namesake
but he who carved it
into time.

A gorgeous write honey.
Mx

[Lady Lazarus.]

This is like reading thoughts.
remarkable.
i know this feeling very well.
genius in so many ways.....

[Nely Amorim]

I did find this needed a couple of reads but after reading your authors note I understood your concept a little better..lol thanks for much for sharing, It was unique:)

[A Spectacular Case]

WOW.
That is amazing.

[Alice]

And yours, and yours, and yours!
Well, I'll get someone to send all the tiny glowing pieces you just scattered me into along with your postcards.
I was too busy exploding in place to the same songs as you wishing for someone like you to find you, but I'm here now and all's brilliant, we're brilliant, this poem is brilliant, and I love you so much I scream it in fields.

[Katrina]

holy. cow.

uhm, wow much? seriously. i love this. i would start pointing out certain lines and exactly what my favorite part was -- but it was the whole thing. i just held my breath through the whole thing afraid if i exhaled it'd just topple over into non-existence like a card house.

you never stop writing, you hear? or i will pinch you really hard. which i would hate to do as I'm kind of fond of you .

into the favorites you go, gem.

xxx