Finally

 

Finally

 

A road gravel

Gray, brown, quiet

Leading back to home

Dust stirred up by walking

 

I waited for words to be spoken

Maybe the leaves would whisper

Or I’d hear through the crunch of gravel

I thought, at times, it echoed in the trees,

When I walked alone.

 

It was later I found it—

In between—

My fingers skimming lines

Page after page

 

I heard the words

As I read

Like a silver lute,

Strummed by skilled fingers

Reverberating

Filling the air

 

 

Promises meant to exist

Promises made to be kept

 

And I finally believed.

 

*

*

*

I’ve written before about how I wonder if art imitates life, or exaggerates it. Is it hyperbole? I love how a painting expresses so much in a single captured moment, how a poem holds within it hidden and multiple meanings, how a book captures the realities and fictions of our human lives. Truths are exposed in these forms. Yet, as much as I want to believe and know that some of that is not exaggerated… sometimes, I have a hard time of it. Sometimes life feels like a long, dank tunnel, and I can’t find the exit. Where is the beauty of the sunrise in this place? Sometimes I feel as if I’m surrounded by a circle by enemies and they all have their swords drawn on me. This is a recurring thought. Actually, it’s more like a nightmare. Why? Sometimes I feel like David being pursued by Saul and I’m trying to find hideouts on the way. Where are the stories of love and friendship down here? Is it all false? Maybe some of us just need to keep imagining. I keep choosing this. This poem is me, choosing to believe that something of that hyperbole in the stories and words I read, and the pictures I see, actually does exist in reality. And of course, it means more, that I did find a place and source of Promise (my spiritual journey). It’s easier for me to write about the dark side of promises. Believing “upon thy promising fortune” (Shakespeare) is much harder. Still I often wonder what is the end, and if I’ll get out. I’m looking for windows and searching for sunlight… a way out. It feels like a very long journey. And now I feel like one of these weird, ill-fated, strange poets or artists that I used to read about….
 
Advertisements

Thank you friend, I love to hear from you...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s