Old poetry from neglected journals.
I’ve found it increasingly difficult to look back on things I have written in the past. Fear of reliving the space I was in when having written them, even for just a minute, always holds me back. (Which honestly doesn’t make a lot of sense concerning the fact that not all of it was written in a dark head space). Nevertheless I successfully avoid most of it, but sometimes I suck it up and it’s never as terrible as I imagined it to be. This is one poem that I have stood up to recently and would like to share it. I have found meaning in it, meaning that I don’t think I had the capacity to understand back when I wrote it. Someone once told me the subconscious knows no time, and as I age I am beginning to see that they might be right.
Wayward are the streams of disbelief, towards this tower built from anger blades and lines.
Deep in the isles of the unknowing, lies a peace that seems impossible to find.
Taller than my will to pass it over, deeper than my knowledge of its nature. It’s sight seems so much weaker than the essence in my chest, but its strength remains far stronger and its motives ever stranger.
Through shelves, compartments, what’s said to be cold darkness, but in essence seems like life lived up to me. I’m stumbling, I’m freezing, but still reach solemn reasoning, that in this very moment I am free.
Assets hold the existence of my bright once-owned sanctuary, by the tip of its transparent rein. It glows and I can lay there, pretend I exist too, and wonder what it’s like to be insane. In this place lies all my longing, of the tranquil block itself. The block that holds no dark, no light, just an empty block of balance, hidden in a never-ending shelf.
Slowly the tower that contained the isles of reasoning, became round, and in and out of themselves the bricks began repeating. A sphere of understanding, surrounded my figure stripped of all character, and left me drifting through a state of lucidity. It was not square it was not empty, not good or bad or all or none. The tower had been broken down and with its power, I had become.