Alone words; and warm sunlight shining, through the window I left open for my self

I.

Can you feel the alone words?
Blowing through, like fiberglass stretching
moments into long stale tears, of forgotten,
all too remembered years,
stacking up like refinery towers
when the hours of man
fall short,
just a little short
of himself,
burning off the pain of being
alone.

That thick, foul, internal, human man smog
puffing out all that smog—
can you see it leaking
from your numerous pores?
when the world slows down speeds up,
becoming so loud, it chokes you
when you open your mouth
to sing—

when you were just wishing to be
the lone chickadee
on the raindrop branch:
dry, unafraid, beautiful;
waiting for the clouds to part—

for that one ray of sunlight to shine down
onto your upturned face,
so for a moment, you can feel heaven
and happily lie
beneath God.

Inside that sun’s beam you are
all that there is—
whether surrounded by the hell
of human man smog, or fields
of fragrant wild flowers
blossoming at the side of the road.

II.

Standing in a field of loose gray-day wheat
as the wind takes you further away
from your self:
this, for me, is alone.

Sitting on a wooden chair, one finger tracing
love on a rainy day window:
alone, alone, alone.

Looking around in your happiest moment
and finding yourself alone
in a festering dark,
words hanging soft from your lips,
laughter rolling off of your hands;
your heart in your searching mouth
wishing you had someone to share these things with
and coming up empty:

certainly, this must be
alone.

You feel them? The alone words?
You gave them, spelling out moments
to you, to others:
for alone, strength; for you.

Yet inside, you knew all along:
there have to be long disturbed moments,
where warmth doesn’t touch you at all—

where all that you get
is more maze
and the burden of time,
where no man may see
or know your mourning,
or the black dripping smog
surrounding your head
of wanting
open blue sky;
where you are unseen, dirty, cold,
where you’ve become
refusal itself.

III.

So I tell my self:

“Make yourself warm,
learn to like licking the wounds
you’ve earned
on your walk;
forge a vase inside of your heart
out of twisted
lightening rod glass,
and be filled
with fresh morning sunlight
in the hands of today’s window.”

“You are not alone,” I say,
“when warmed
with a morning blessing
imbued
with chickadee song.”

© Kristin Reynolds 4 26 2011

Alone words; and warm sunlight shining, through the window I left open for my self

sesheshet

Joined July 2010

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

the word alone conjures many pictures, different pictures from one to the next. alone can be beautiful and/or lonely; we choose what it is we see.

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