I hurt a bit. From lack of sleep in part,
And sleep all lost because of tenderness
Imagined, where a phoenix of a heart,
Incinerated in its tinder nest,
Has given birth, to birth and flight, again.
Or conifer, whose seeds cannot release
Until a scorching, longs for fire and then,
With forest decimated, finds its peace
In nutrient from ash, and clearer sun.
Affection, having lain so long with pain,
Is loathe to rise: The two are nearly one,
And waking one will only wake the twain.
And so begins a sacrificial burning;
This trial by ordeal, for sin of yearning.
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Comments
Rated.
And waking one will only wake the twain."
I read these two lines again and again. wow.
Kate, indeed. And I can't help but wonder about all these happy people around me that seem not to have any problems at all. I suspect there's more to it...
Pilgrim, thank you so much. Your notes are humbling. Thank you. And yes, I got very lucky with "pine". When I'm feeling on a roll, I'll do something with "spruce".
Y Heron, I'm so glad you liked those lines. They really were the whole point, and something I remember discovering when my first marriage went up in flames. And here I go again.
trilogy, thank you so much. The poem took me until about 3:00am. I swear it came out as it did because I was so sleepy I may as well have been in a drunken stupor. I practically started snoring on the last period. I'm glad it works.
kissing, thank you.
And thank you all for taking the time to let me know you've been by. I will earnestly try to respond more quickly.