There’s an Ancient Tiny Place

I just found out that April is National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo for short) — an annual project encouraging poets to write one poem each day in April. What a cool idea, and why not give a try? Here’s a link to the NaPoWriMo web site for more info. If you’re inspired to join the project or are already part of it, please leave me a comment so I can follow your work! Here’s my 4/1 poem:

there’s an ancient tiny place

there’s an ancient tiny place
in the core of my heart
where the wind whistles low
and hollow are the walls
and the doorways

there’s an echo swirling round
but you cannot make it out
for its from another time and
something melancholy flies
beneath its shadow

I didn’t used to know
all this pain was waiting here
for I’d mastered how to live
and I’d learned a thousand ways
to do the numbing

I didn’t used to know
of the emptiness behind
all the patching and the pruning
and the silencing and smoothing
and the running

when I slow it all down
and stand and meet what’s there
the terror is just this: it will
engulf, control, abuse
obscure, delete, kill
survive and then forget me

but I sit anyway —
for there’s nothing left to do —
waiting for the stars to fall
and all the worlds to end
and I watch and I listen
to my heart

a little while goes
and on the very other side
I can feel more than see
an old sun shining bright and
something softens like a sigh and
for a time then I can hear
the choir singing

like I never did before
both the awakened and forlorn
hurling souls against the sky
that must gather all their voices
and shelter their illusions
in its bosom

so brazen with their screams
and so trusting with their keening
how I long to open wide
set my sorrow free to fly
and join their story

and then it’s there, exploding out
crashing round, smashing open
all the dead and dying walls
and the locks left over
from the brutal sad and barren
hiding times

and when the rising chorus kisses
on the cheek the olden sun
and melts back to my gaping heart
without a toll
without a threat
without a sound
I’ll be forgiven

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