Saturday, 19 August 2017

Twenty | A Poem



At sixteen I confessed;

I need to find a new place to
Rest my head
Away from what I knew before,
Away from Jacks of all Trades and
Masters of none
Away from where my eyes struggle
Under the weight of a thousand suns
Away from a veil which was 
Placed over my mouth and
I forgot how to speak for months
On end.

Tell me,
How fast can you spell 
Recovery?
It comes about in the smiles of 
Others reflected right
Onto me,
It comes in fleeting fashion,
A swing of a pendulum I do
Not even own
But I pray that it will land in such
A way that I can
Feel myself again -

Enough to let all the love
I want to feel
For myself
And those around me,
Pour through the valleys
To flush all the matter that
Caused such hurt here.

And I would wish for these times
To be finite,
Like a mere spec in a Van Gogh
Painting,
Resting as delicate accidents
That do not impose on the
Brush strokes 
Surrounding it;
Forming miles upon miles of
Constellations that make up
Life,

Utterly and
Completely,

Letting the parts that are lovable
Bloom a brilliant elixir –

At nineteen,
There was a reprieve,
In the deepest depths of a wintry summer, 
Strings came to life in a church,
Bare feet dancing as if moving
On hot sand,
A technicolour display on the alter,
A whole new religion created

That was where I wanted to stay,
Not to worship a God belonging to 
Anyone, but
An art that ties us all together
And binds our souls in a sacrament
Of words and notes
That lilt the heart to peace.

At twenty,
I believe the valleys will remain,
Through the smaragdine mist, 
I'll find a palace I can waltz in,
That I could call home,
At least for a while -
No petticoats or lavish frocks
No hand of an emperor’s son,
But just to feel at peace
In the safety of the steps.