A Poem: Waking Journey

I recently unearthed, from the deep litter of several years of paper, a folder of poetry that I wrote between 1994 and 2001 when writing poems was one of the few ways I could make sense of life. I have always written not only for personal pleasure but from a desire to connect with other people. So many poets and authors have helped me to feel less alone that I have long kept in mind the conceit that what I write might help someone else to feel less alone. So I’m letting a few of these poems see the light of day again like messages in a bottle brought in on a fifteen-year-long tide.

Waking Journey
I didn't sleep at all
And dawn discovered me
Watching a projection of myself
Packing up this little room
With sighs

Books into boxes
Clothing to be given away
Getting back to the core of me
Papers of unfinished scores
Waiting still

Surely goodness
Will follow me where I am going
In the way it always has before now
And mercy I will get as much
As I need

When was I last
So true to myself as to drop
The trappings of expectation
And rewrite the script
By inspiration

And now I write
Like I have not written for years
Stumbling back to an old haunt
With another notch
On the staff

A little more
Wisdom in the eyes
Makes the old land look changed
The hair a little longer
Feels the breeze

I will return
To conquer the past
I will pack a few possessions
And leave the rest behind
For a while

(July 2001)

I did, in fact, return –  seven months later – with a few more notches on the staff and a little more wisdom in the eyes, and the place looked different; but I still have a few unfinished (musical) scores and balancing inspiration with expectation is an everyday battle.

More of my poems from this blog

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