The Blessing

Drafted March 2016

My tongue is stripped and graceless
Tripping over itself
To express my love

Around you I feel naked
But I have nothing to hide,

And I even flaunt my ugliness
And you do not turn away

I do not understand why I have been so lucky

I thought that when you needed it most the world turned it’s back on you.
And that when a person was down they were kicked on the ground.

How wrong I was.
And how glad I am that I was wrong.

Angels come in various guises;
Perhaps you are from another realm
Or maybe you really are that rare thing:
Someone who truly loves
And who is honest with themselves.

I have met my soul love
And my heart is softened still
By fresh volleys of tears
When I think of you.

Lazarus

Written March 2016

Love will raise me from the dead
Love will lift my soul
Love will cleanse me of my sins
Love will make me pure.

 {Before you my heart was vacant. I was crawling on my hands and knees along a dirty track. I was trying to go uphill but I kept sliding back. And the cold black Fear had taken possession of my soul; crouched inside me like a squatter, sticking needles in my mind, lacerating my insides with knives.

I had thrown away the Devil’s trinkets but I was left with his weapons. You see, the Devil leaves trinkets in the path of those with empty hands – bright baubles of vanity, shiny coins of addiction – easy distractions. Eventually, and with difficulty, I tossed these aside and picked up his silver knives and shards of obsession, and I cut myself repeatedly. I did not put them down – could not, because I had nothing else, or had forgotten what it means – I know you understand.

Yes, Fear turned me against myself and it’s taken its toll. I am cracked and broken now. But the light of love will shine out from my cracks and make me whole. And I will live again}

And so I repeat, like an incantation, turning your bracelet around and around on my wrist:

 Love will raise me from the dead
Love will lift my soul
Love will cleanse me of my sins
Love will make me pure.

 

Postmodern Smoke

File:Coffee break (3457656569).jpg

Written February 2016

Wednesday: what a dispiriting day for new beginnings. On days like these I just want to hide beneath a blanket with a mug of tea. Let the world pass me by.

I have had my fill of feelings already and I don’t want any more (thank you).

I know I cannot hide for ever, and I know I’ll see your face again and we’ll talk and maybe I’ll be able to say what I want to say.

There are too many thoughts swirling round in my head (let them be for today).

The world is dark and you sent a shaft of light straight into my heart.

Life is an endless realisation; a constant becoming.

My thoughts are like wisps of smoke, curling, taking form, then disappearing.

I am a jigsaw that is permanently disarranged.

I love this feeling of being shattered glass, winking in the sunlight.

Broken but beautiful, like our hearts.

* * * * *

I’ve taken to abstract paintings because something is shifting inside. My soul is on uneven ground. Undergoing transformation. I’ve been dangled over the abyss and felt the great yawn of fear, of emptiness. And I’ve been bathed in brilliant light. Both these feelings hurt in different ways. But I know which one I prefer.

Maybe I have a brain disease. Or maybe I am really changing. Or maybe it is an illusion. Postmodern smoke.

Image via Kenny Louie

 

Angel Of Light

white flower

Before you came along, I was in so much pain;
Tired, running in circles in my head –
Only a vague notion of hope kept me going;
A sense there might be something worth living for,
I just hadn’t found it yet.
In short, I was broken.

But then you came along and picked me up,
Gave me love with all your heart
Hugged me so tight my fissures were healed,
Filled me with light;
Your healing touch.

You’ve lit a flame inside which feels immortal,
This love is what I needed, all along.

You are my nurse, my shelter,
My angel of light,
You are my guardian.
I keep your bracelet around my wrist
And your love wrapped ’round my heart.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

  
BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

Luciferous

  
He is the light-bringer
Who left his mark,
An indelible imprint upon my heart

His gentle words
And protective arms
Healed the cracks inside me

His existence in this world
Makes me feel safe –
He is my saviour.