Simple
January 21st 2008 08:20
I am stuffing words with meaning-
Tearing them open,
Running my hands along the insides to hollow them out;
So I may fit my soul inside.
The water came down like a wall you know-
My hair was flattened to my scalp.
I started laughing and raising my arms to the sky
In thanks or worship or despair
my laughter becoming sobs
with the street lights splashing out onto the black road.
Do you know how it felt?
Hearing the water pounding like a heart beat?
I was walking on a ridge between symbolism and nothingness for some reason.
Everything was epic.
Everything was stripped to its essence;
Like white bone showing through flesh
I was walking through the downpour
Thanking someone that I felt
The water on my skin-
Hollowing out these words
to connect with something beyond myself:
Just breathing
Just sensing
Just drinking in the water that fell in all beauty and submission,
Into my smoke choked soul,
Joy spilling from my eyes,
Wanting to smooth my hands inside these words
And have someone hear my simplicity.
Tearing them open,
Running my hands along the insides to hollow them out;
So I may fit my soul inside.
The water came down like a wall you know-
My hair was flattened to my scalp.
I started laughing and raising my arms to the sky
In thanks or worship or despair
my laughter becoming sobs
with the street lights splashing out onto the black road.
Do you know how it felt?
Hearing the water pounding like a heart beat?
I was walking on a ridge between symbolism and nothingness for some reason.
Everything was epic.
Everything was stripped to its essence;
Like white bone showing through flesh
I was walking through the downpour
Thanking someone that I felt
The water on my skin-
Hollowing out these words
to connect with something beyond myself:
Just breathing
Just sensing
Just drinking in the water that fell in all beauty and submission,
Into my smoke choked soul,
Joy spilling from my eyes,
Wanting to smooth my hands inside these words
And have someone hear my simplicity.
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Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
Tearing them open,
Running my hands along the insides to hollow them out;
So I may fit my soul inside.
Memoirs are so like that, aren't they?
In a way I think writers are much like the rain ... something lost each time the soul is expressed ... yet something gained too...?
Simply lovely ... like your poem.
Lilla ...