My love inquired,
“Why not write of your torment?”
I went to sleep without any words.
Most certain that my dreams would unfold
what is processing,
I prayed to wake anew.
Deep sorrows
are always a longing to feel God,
in all things.
What ails most is a searching
that is short of myself.
Though woes lay heavy upon a heart,
it is the separation from the friend
that injures each bone
and obstructs the paths of light.
Perhaps a raving woman?
Mad to few, wild to others,
twinkling to many,
and an angel to some.
Is is hysterical to feel so deeply
and then produce an ocean
of salty sweet tears?
Can one find their own boat
to sail atop the basin
of a heart’s expression?
When the waters meet the strength
of the mountains and the
vastness of the sky,
will she still be misunderstood?
Or shall she be revealed
as no more and no less
than all things?
Tiny woman in an illusory world.
She may be seen as beautiful
or too much, hideous, agreeable
or quick –
dependent the onlooker.
One must turn towards the beloved to see their
every changing perfection.
They must climb out from under
the oppressive boulders of fear
and the projections of abhorrence.
The tragedy is not what is
so trivial and apparent.
The rejection, abandonment,
the unkindnesses
are never what she truly suffers.
There is a simple path
revealing where one has looked
to the West, rather than the East.
Misguided and forgetting
these poisons can be forsaken.
A route can be replaced.
Turn directly to the Tavern
of bouquets and tapestries
of wisdom and color.
It is there,
she will be find an answer
to the initial question posed.