The stories melt like ash on our tongue
We are parched
Lying on the floor
Thinking of endings
Milkweed afternoons perish like spirits
Snapped in two
Tiny limbs dangling from the edge of our cave
Waiting in this space of being
Drifting in and out of consciousness
Days months years
We can only imagine the rings in the tree
Felled
Broken
Sore
Too tired to cry or crawl any more
There is a small light
A radiance
Time burning like a flare
In the background of our mind
Old dreams failing and falling
A thin rope and sad disguise
The rain comes
Washes away the clover
Painted carefully on our hand
We are born in words
Not being
The stories melt like ash on our tongue
We are parched
Lying on the floor
Thinking of endings
That never come.
Now this is sad introspective piece but beautifully written Jae. Life however is not always what we have done but more what sort of person we are; maybe creative, funny, insightful, loving and independent as I am sure you are.
ReplyDeleteI like that thought - thank you Old Egg
DeleteMaybe it's a good thing that the endings never come? (Hope so!)
ReplyDeleteWe hope so too - thank you Magical
DeleteHow beautiful, the lines milkweed afternoons perish like spirits snapped in two. The good thing about spirits is, they rise, like the morning sun.....your stump photo reminds me of a photo of a stump on facebook that had a sign that said i'm still alive. Now that is endurance. Smiles. I put my faith in "there is a small light, a radiance, burning like a flare". That is the light that keeps us going through hard times, my friend. Watch the mail.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sherry - especially for holding onto that light
DeleteMilkweed afternoons perish like spirits
ReplyDeleteSnapped in two
Tiny limbs dangling from the edge of our cave... gosh those lines just burnt a hole through my heart.. fantastic.
Thank you thotpurge
DeleteIt feels like endless, recycling dispair. Sadness.
ReplyDeleteIt is sad - thank you J Cosmo
DeleteWords have power, and can be the seeds of being. Like Sherry, I put my faith in that small light, that radiance.
ReplyDeleteThank you Rosemary
DeleteIntense. All I can think is that I want to smudge the ash stories on my forehead in ritual like Catholics do on Ash Wednesday.
ReplyDeleteThat's an arresting image - thank you Colleen
DeleteThank you Loredana
ReplyDeletemilkweed afternoons - pure poetry!
ReplyDeleteThanks telltale
Delete"We are born in words
ReplyDeleteNot being "
these lines sing the craft of poetry
Have a nice Sunday Jae
much love...
A good Sunday to you also thanks Gillena
DeleteThe thought of stories drying out do something painful to my heart...
ReplyDeleteThank you Magaly
DeleteAbsolutely haunting and beautiful ... ash on the tongue....
ReplyDeleteThank you Pearl
DeleteYou've really described things so vividly that I can almost feel the ache in my throat from physical thirst colliding with drowning emotion.
ReplyDeleteThanks Rommy - things are certainly sore
DeleteThe connection to thirst is such a strong image... maybe it's the waiting that holds off the end though
ReplyDeleteMaybe so ... Thank you Bjorn
DeleteCool!
ReplyDeleteZQ
Thanks ZQ
DeleteBeautifully sad. "we are born in words, not being" That line is reverberating within me, asking questions.
ReplyDeleteThank you Myrna
DeleteHaunting and simply beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThanks Ayala
DeleteThis is wonderfully constructed ... the final two lines beautifully encapsulating life's dirty little secret: "Thinking of endings
ReplyDeleteThat never come."
Brilliant writing!
Thank you as always Wendy
DeleteThere are many of us who are born in words. Being happy with that seems to be the task of that reality.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
And a hard task too - thank you Elizabeth
DeletePerhaps a new chapter instead of an ending? Hope you are doing fine, Jae
ReplyDeleteThat's a good thought Totomai.. I think we need a new chapter. Thanks
Delete'we are born in words, not being' - incredible thoughts throughout this amazing poem.
ReplyDeleteKeith's Ramblings has left a new comment on your post "Parched":
ReplyDeleteEndings are too final - don't let them come.
Click to visit Keith's Ramblings!
Sorry Keith I deleted your comment by mistake - thank you as always
DeleteThough you poem speaks of endings...it is sadly beautiful! You write brilliantly. Your genius never fails!
ReplyDeleteThough you poem speaks of endings...it is sadly beautiful! You write brilliantly. Your genius never fails!
ReplyDeleteThank you Annell xo
DeleteThought-provoking on many levels.
ReplyDeleteIn your cycle of thinking of endings, I would hope that sometimes the happy ones do come, and only forebodings never do.
Thank you Colonialist - we hope for a happy one too
DeleteWe are parched
ReplyDeleteLying on the floor
Thinking of endings
That never come.
One gets exhausted with the duration sometimes extended unfairly when waiting for them!
Hank
It's certainly a long wait - thank you Hank
DeleteYou opened the door of my childhood, with "milkweed afternoons." So much more, so much unsaid, so much unspoken. Thank you Jae, you are brilliant!!!
ReplyDelete