it is so hard to keep
with every day there are changing shades from day to night
sometimes I am comforted by fireflies and evening moth
who dual beyond the porch, betrayed by flicker and swat
I imagine the patterns of her wings, that magic sting of light
so short their lives compared to ours, so rich and meaningful I would infer
sometimes it is the exclusion of pain gives me rest
when I can at last unroll my carpet and forget
carrying the weight all day, a vase of ache absent of flower
to place this nowhere and have it melt away
I lie in the bath and heady steam dissipates reality
in those musings there is only the delight of a girl
seeking her passion in lingered meandered imagining
and you come to me, full of health and unharmed yet
by cruel flint and staunch of your absent conscience
and you lay me down and make of me what you will
a thousand pieces of me broken and rebuilt
which I give with my all, for you were and you remain still
far more than sense can convey
in the hour of day when dreams are gone to sleep
I see the cruelty of your take and take and take
the hunger of your keep and how I was but a thing, in your
cabinet of curiosities to be taken out and squeezed when you
thirsted or when times were hard and you needed the succor of
kindness to tuck you in, nothing of you was sincere or loving
all that I held dear possessed the sound of my own breaking
it was as if I had become pupil to mistreatment
learned many times on illiterate whip of inheritance
children soon become acquiescent to disregard
I didn’t know how to be worthy and you took my pain
pinned it to a velvet card and called me Opodiphthera Eucalypti
my blush and powder, the soft rubbed fur and bleed of color
round and round my pattern and maze, sucking from thistle
the gypsy without, I live in silk and attraction to light
pollinating only the fruit of predators like yourself
as you pinch my wings with your greed and whisper
my lunar, my atlas, spin your silken web across my longing
for I have never learned my worth and you wish to
gobble on my spirit as you may an Autumn apple
the fragrance of your dissection
it is too easy
to stay my life in wait of your call
watching others continue onward and myself find
nothing but the covet and anguish of a prisoner
if I had the strength to
I’d hurl myself against the glass
leaving a smudge of myself in technicolor
for children to press their noses against and wonder
oh what ever life could make such a kaleidoscope
and in these mixings of burning and yearning
parched by want and crushed to nothing
the dancer emerges broken and fragmented
to spirit into night her ether and the longing
she is free of her torment and bound to the wax and wane
of one who has rubbed against and been caught by
a terrible rope, woven with obsidian, the shade of pain
it is too hard to remain
to your brand of hurt
and live in dying with every pursuit
I have long imagined I am already prepared
for the hour, the moment, pain exceeds its curse
and slipping like oil and water and vinegar bound
we change from solid to infinity and beyond
where only the stain of who we were and what we bore
that burning need to consume, that hunger for
all the poison within your sickening and how
never did you rest until the very perish was wrought
standing still like a girl reaching for
it is the fresh unopened rose
and her tightly closed promise
shall see tomorrow and claim
for I will not be there to witness
this new day and those trespasses for this comforts
me in such a depth as if every kind of anguish
were salved by the knowledge this too shall end
and you will dissolve in time
beyond the fragment of what has been
into the very air like things we cannot yet see
whirling and catching the air in relief
for moths have never lived long enough it seems
to know their beauty and how it is
for us who live sometimes too long
and rise to see another day, alone
37 thoughts on “Faith”
Hi sweetie! Very nice poem!
Your wonderful poem instantly reminded me of Leonard Cohen’s song….xxx
Like a dagger made from my own bones, this cuts deeply
Rise, and be well. Even Lazurus woke. So shall you in the infinite words full of transcendence. 💗, Beautiful C!
Rich, evocative…soulfully spoken.
Candice, really well done.
You are a master.
To love and long for one who does not have the same understanding in the heart, but uses the word anyway.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Painful love – longing anyway
Takes my breath away-
Such heartfelt words..
in all its’ brokenness, lies such strength..
Beautifully written 💕
So many beautiful words to convey such pain!
“carrying the weight all day, a vase of ache absent of flower”
I love how you juxtaposed this line against the entire poem to bring out the pain, of love, of life. Beautiful piece
A stunning metaphor
I have no words to describe the pain and loneliness your writing conveys in this piece. You have given us something, given me something, to chew on for some time to come .. relationships, treatment of others, our own souls and taking from the soul of others what we desire yet failing to provide nourishment back to the ones that love us. Thank you, I will come back to this time and again for perspective.. xx xx 💜
A beautiful poem of romantic torment and anguish.
Beautifully written, Candice. Sorry I’ve been such a stranger. Hope you are well, my friend ❤
I am hanging in. Trying to keep it together for the long run. How about you? Are you feeling better?
Don’t ever be sorry my lovely. How are you feeling?
Lovely to see you here my friend thank you for coming
Well you know what I think but just incase you don’t I’m sure I wrote it you last night xo LU
I appreciate so much that you read what I write thank you so much dear Orville
Dearest Skye thank you so much for reading what I write xo
There she is! I am so glad we know each other better now xo JUST SAYING! 😉 xo
And you are a really valued friend Bill thank you for reading my work
Thank you I am so glad you liked it! Thank you!
As always I think you eclipse all understanding B
Thank you darling thank you
Yes, I can see how that would be apropros my Phoenix One
MASSIVE compliment dearest Ivor as I love the Cohen’s work
The pleasure is all mine, Candice.
Your meaning comes through so clearly, stunningly, at that place where the individual and the universal intersect.
And you are always in mine ❤
Overall I think so. I always add you to my prayers my friend
The pleasure is always mine. Beautiful poem.
This is so, so good! So deep, powerful! I really loved it! ❤
Wow thank you I really, really appreciate that Carol!
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