A sleeping guardian stirs
The alerted sentry opens an eye
The author and site owner can be reached at leeundercedartrees@gmail.com.
A sleeping guardian stirs
The alerted sentry opens an eye
Poems elusive,
poems that will never be:
tonight I mourn them
(On expression never served.)
A confidant asked me recently
(Gently, as is their way)
How, when I pick up that tool
I know when I’m finished
Sometimes
No, often
The words come of their own accord
Unsummoned
But still so welcome
I give them a home
A nest to rest in
…
Many anxious evenings
I want to burn every word I’ve written
…
Over a great bonfire of massive flames
Reaching for the atmosphere
Dreaming of visiting the stars
…
Words queued for release
Fatigue conquers expression
Return underground
Sunrise not yet here
Moon asks if they’ll die with me
Secret words hidden
My metaphors are odd, mismatched
My word choices are unusual, maybe nonsensical…
…crawling with shallow punishments… inflicted in anger and defiance of the norm, and refusal to accept its claims.
I write not on account of skill, as I am certainly lacking. Rather, I write because there is a deep need, vast and cluttered with dust clouds and a few faint stars and violent storms and ocean tides and evergreen forests and cycles of the moon and heartaches and hope for life and quiet pleas for death or sleep and a real person turned away, hidden, who I can never become.
The writing will continue until I’ve purged so much need, there’ll be no more words to be said, or my end has arrived — whichever comes first.