i wait and wait
for words to lead the way.
but words should not be guides in this battle.
they are shapeshifting emotions
gliding just to fly over mountaintops.
just to fill empty shadowspaces.

to make thoughts more justified.
to create experimental situations.
to riverflow unguarded through time.

and subject matter and inspirations
mean little.

teachers mean little when no longer existing.
little, in fact, to poetry which noone understands but my own soul.

so what is this writing for,
if i cannot see the truth in my own words?
if i cannot see?

someone tell me my volumes are not in vain.
that firestorm rescuing is necessary.

or just be silent.
and no longer speak of once/elegant word/traps.

no longer illustrate cryptic lessons and wishes
only i can fully comprehend.
and why not save my aching wrist and inkpen.
keep these storylines to my Self.
unguarded at gates to secretgardens.
only truth spilling through my lips
as a fountain in daylight wonder.

unspoken riddles and carefully lanscaped mazes
boring me to the core when (still) noone understands
her fingerpainted pictures.

and i rest uneasy the next morning
when guardian angels had crowded my dreams at night.

and the phantasy of allknowing wizards
dulls when seeing how fake spokenwords were.
my self not entrusted to tread softly on hills and valleys of the unveiled Soul.
and even paperwovenwords ache with reminiscence of recycling
older words for older emotions.
carboncopied when my doe-in-headlights eyes peered
from behind a flickering window.

and bethanybreathed never reached the wolf's cheek.
never warmed up the sun enough to cease these tricks
on wanderers in the dark.

and never doubt that i have learned
and have grown with the sun's wordtouch.
but i see the angles.
through shadowglances.

and perhaps it is all my creation.
a puzzle to keep my head turning
and keep my mind guessing and focussing
on the affairs of heartsoul.

better yet,
it is all just a word-dream...

09/03/2002

Posted on 09/03/2002
Copyright © 2024 Bethany Lee