nursing

after all this

a day of dripping red beating myself with

future and past

a long spiked whip crafted years ago

on that familiar road

leading nowhere

now i must do the hard work in the silence of redemption

giving myself

salve for these open wounds

i care for them gently so much time spent nursing myself back to health

no wonder

not much else is getting done

forgetting the promises

the morning seems so long ago

when the dawn held me in

colours of honey and sweet lavender

such a sweet embrace

when those words reached out to me

destiny love order rightness belonging safety

such promises

that we are here and still here and being here is where

we are supposed to be

to fully express who and what we are

it is still possible, today

too long ago

running on empty now

confronted with nothing but myself

karma from the past interupting dharma

courage is not trying but after failing

to return

to the page that is dripping red

courage

to embrace the feedback like embracing a rabid dog

i could kill myself a hundered times

but it would do no good

except perhaps i already am

every time i

turn

away.

promise: recovery and discovery

but i didn't want to discover this

didn't want this 'feedback'

this aching fear

that what i shall discover

is unredeemable.

surely these moments

are hell

this spring

this Spring

what surprises me

is how much death there is

daffodils once dancing

now rot in my compost

Remembering the winter

i have not yet removed the heavy blankets

from the time when i

could not

go

outside

It was not

that the doors were locked.

but I, unsteady - walking:

shaky my Faith was - lost

I promptly shut doors

when they gently opened

on even those occasionally warm january days

Preferring the safety of a

bloody darkness

This spring time

I am surprised to discover

that the words I thought I once knew

I don't know

at all.

Beliefs (peace is good)

are now as mysterious

as that young lady's face in the mirror -

i don't really know (H)er

at all

Spring, now

I find

surprising:

I am being courted.

Yes, me!

My very own Prince

Sending first daffodils then tulips and now bluebells

And even as today's bluebells die

tomorrow, I hear, will be roses.

Such abundance, my Prince

Delights in giving me

Peace

And I find, not really to my surprise

that I don't know Him

at all,

though He has (really) been

quite busy, courting me

for quite

a long time before

this spring

waxing moon, wild horses

waxing moon

turmoil of darkness giving way

to the early morning

the horses the horses

waking too early i hear them straining

at their locked stable doors

half undressed i stumble

untied laces, carpeted stairs, tripping

to their doors, cold wind biting

dawning sun as pink as april's full moon

through the clouds it glows that everlasting lantern

splintered wood cuts as i

throw open their paddock doors

dapples and bays and grays

all the pretty little horses

bursting seething nostrils flaring

what fool

tried to put

wild horses

in a stable

what man

forgot where he threw the key

kicking they fly

towards the hills

looking for mountains

and swift rivers

bypassing the sheep they

run and i

dust and new grass in mouth

their lust filling my hands as i

reach out

they shy away, looking up, over, elsewhere

there and there go also there

thrilled delighted

but which one

can i ride?