I keep my burning eyes low
voice is steadily calm
skeletons beat on doors
isn't it time
they moved on?
Peace presides when I'm all alone
I don't miss these ghosts when they're gone,
Memories living on, in these halls
around these doors, voices once loud
sealed inside my framework,
left to prattle,
forevermore.
I once succumbed to rocking waves
the emotional paralysis
rendered me
helpless for days
could I have hoped for more?
Not in this way,
I should know
when they charm
phantom illusion voices harm
To leave is to relent,
and there's no way,
so I'm left here to deal
alone.
Around me here they come again,
Skeletons; come marching in
dance their silly-morbid,
melancholy, misanthropic,
stupid little must have beens. . .
I guess I can say
I did my part,
I shared my pledge
Not another bone
not another ledge
no more
mountains in the sky,
no more
waiting for
death's carriage
to pass my by,
To stop, and say hello
to dispell these ghosts,
I could only hope for such a grand ending as that.
Author notes
Picture above is Emily Dickenson, courtesy of Amherst College.
Those who know her work will recognize a sort of montage underneath of Emily's work, not just the poem posted below.
Emily is my favorite childhood poet.
I started reading her work when I was 8 years old,
and even named my daughter, Emily Elizabeth, after her.
With my birthday lingering, I couldn't help but seek solace-
MAIN Prompt for this write:
I measure every Grief I meet (561)
by Emily Dickinson
I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.
I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –
I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –
I note that Some – gone patient long –
At length, renew their smile –
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil –
I wonder if when Years have piled –
Some Thousands – on the Harm –
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm –
Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve –
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love –
The Grieved – are many – I am told –
There is the various Cause –
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes –
There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –
A sort they call "Despair" –
There's Banishment from native Eyes –
In Sight of Native Air –
And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –
To note the fashions – of the Cross –
And how they're mostly worn –
Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like My Own –
In a list
Thank you,
Comments
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This may be a work in progress, but it's brilliant. Excellent imagery and metaphor usage. I got a vision of all the skeletons in your closet dancing around as you sit in a solitary chair in an otherwise empty room.
Clappy dudes!
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Another honest look at life
"skeletons beat down doors isn't it time they moved on?
Once again you've put your finger on one of those inhibitors to our progress in life. Those skeletons! These are memories so traumatic or powerful they fill our horizon and take our attention away from goals we could achieve in life if we were focused on those goals alone.
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