Authenticity shook her.
Her soul beseeched her
In an ancient, familiar language
She once fluently spoke
Until, at last, she listened.

She was being drawn
Back to herself,
Pulled inward
By a visceral energy
That forced her to
Live true to her own self.

Even the promise of longevity
Was trumped by
What her soul knew
Had finished unfolding.

Having experienced a peek
Of some unconscious violence
Probably never meant to see the light of day;
The way certain ideas
simply don't occur to a mind
Focused on its own narrow
And unhappy path,
She withdrew
To the safety of
Her beloved, recurrent solitude.

So she tucked herself
Back into the little pocket of her heart,
That rhythm’d comfort
Where no one lived but her.

A clarity which necessitated
(The gentlest of) clearing;
The soft refrain of chords
That now formed
The end of their song.

10/08/2015

Posted on 10/08/2015
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie