Ache

[creativesoul]

I feel like I’m floating
Like a kaleidoscope perception


It’s so sad I might have to write
You .. died .. I hear your goofy laugh

The leather man tool knives you liked to show the girls
At the narcotics anymous meeting

You who liked rough sex and dangerous drugs
You who was like 3 people in one
You who went to prison for five years
You whose mother was in a rest home you who had twin boys

Fuck me running you used to say
A wanna be biker fresh out of jail
You died

The last time I saw you you looked like you were stuck in a dark spider web

I knew I would never see you again

I told you about that dream

I dunno anything
But my heart aches
I remember getting your mother’s ashes in a box
Taking the whole family to smoke canupa

The sisters ashes and mothers were put in the river together

You could feel that somehow they were reunited

All of this death seals the deal
That it’s over - your suffering
The breaking bad chemist with a crazy lawyer
Yeah that’s cool

But wow. Death keeps knocking on the door

Telling me the score

I cannot cry
I cannot even make the noise

I am frozen in a small lake in oregon
My heart will always love you

But my mind cannot listen to you
I am so sorry that your childhood was so knarly



Death
Keep knocking on the door
I’m not answering your calls

Tracking the prints in the snow
A wounded deer


No one knows anything
the transformation to happen
Over and over
Metamorphosis of garden bliss


Flowers curl up beside the past and laugh
In my face

[judih]

jana, so many beautiful moments in this piece:

"I am frozen in a small lake in oregon"
"Over and over
Metamorphosis of garden bliss"

a very thoughtful poem.

[creativesoul]

Thank you very much ..
just for a little moment writing can bring peace
I think perhaps it is a release( unintended rhyme)
I can never make words do what I want
They sure seem to do what they need to do to me..

[saw]

write
until you can no longer
there is healing and magic sometimes there

[sasha]

the writer strives to give meaning to a blank page by filling it with words - the painter does the same by filling an empty canvas with color - the sculptor a block of stone with space - never perfect - I believe that's why art will never die - there's always more to be done better

[creativesoul]

It would seem that the quiver; the pen, the brush are all tools
Which turn ordinary water to tea
Yes the feel of a brush in your hand is quite satisfying
The words escape from my heart
There is no perfect motive
Other than purge cleanse uncover
Release divert
Songs come and go
With or without words

Yes thank you that I have this funny kink
Writing painting