A recent inspiration. As I have said, poetry is emotion, poems are how I get out the pain, debrief the wounds and try to move on.
Like shattered dust,
From a broken glass ceiling,
You are scattered through my life.
If the path looks clear, my feet still bleed,
I see you in the past and my future.
Like accepting the stain on your favorite shirt,
Like the scar from your worst accident,
You are the tears that mark my pillow every night,
The drops of sorrow and confusion that linger,
You are like the cold from a winter breeze,
The draft under an old door,
The deer that jumps out of nowhere,
The ghost that derails my train.
When I think I’ve moved on – when I think you are gone,
When I feel like the question have been swallowed,
Like holding down the vomit from your rotting insides,
Something breaks, the damn bursts,
Another shard of glass pierces my flesh.
The bomb that tore my world to pieces,
Has left a dilapitating and disoriented sanctuary,
And when it feels like the worst is over,
The vicious winds of blows another unstable piece free,
It crashes atop of me, another painful reminder,
I’ll never know why. I’ll never understand how.
But while trapped in this prison I’ll say a spell,
A prayer of love and light and prosperity.
I’ll hold tight the beautiful memories,
As I lock my face into my knees,
And close my eyes to pretend it will be alright.
Glass and mines are littered everywhere.
The breadcrumbs of our love.
When night falls, I can’t see the moon,
My only light –
The fires that burned this sanctuary of love and promise.
Yet I’ll keep trying.
My feet bleeding my vain attempts of freedom,
Until one day, the pain is gone.
-Xaneria Ann | Jan 2017