(Poem) “I move to write…”

May 8, 2008 by Deightine.

I feel the quivering twitch of the old pain coming
old angers, new rages, old angst newly drawing
like puss from a wound that refuses to heal
scent triggered, memory lingered, a tired red weal.

My fingers go to the pen, tips touch the key
leaving me to wonder which writing it will be
An extension of the elbow, of the shoulder and mind
a curiosity surfaces over what I’ll leave behind.

The curtain draws but my words do not
it isn’t because I’m choke or that I’ve forgot
But because on my wrist lingers a tender brush
of hands not my own or in any rush.

I move to write, to vent, to feel and remember
but at that soft condolence my thoughts all dismember
And she brings to me pain unlike any I can recall
as fingers slack, mind hazes and I forget it all.

—-

Sometimes the most tortured soul is the one that finds forgiveness… because it sometimes murders the ability to feel when every second you feel pain, someone is there to pick you up. People consider it a blessing, but it isn’t for those of us that spend so much time coasting and only remembering what emotion feels like.

Sometimes we need to hurt… how else can we remember what it is like to be happy?

Posted in Poetry | Print | No Comments »