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STRANGE NUMBNESS
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JOURNAL #39
It was a strange weekend
we both endured
wreathing in masked
past needs
how his immaturity danced
with left over bits of my own
as mutual disgust slowly
befell our eyes
while the notion of we
lost any and all
its ability to further surprise
I write to merely understand
though true friends might argue
I only manage to over analyze
we run on bloodied feet
make small talk
over festering wounds
the purpose and attempts
looking back now
seemed empty and bitterly out of tune
these are sad days ahead
full of hoops we still feel
we must find the strength
to somehow dance through
I contemplate the lessons
lost and learned
retrieved and mended
verses what just hurts
because it's still all
so very real
sometimes emotions
mixed up with old memories
just taint what once was
and twist it into something
so very painful and complex
when without them
one could hope
to better see so much
more clearly
yet we only bleed on
just a little more
hopefully this helps
to better close
the old wounds
prayer tells me
all this 'Strange Numbness'
I feel
is necessary
for him to feel too
the painful corrective
stitches we've made
this past weekend
blend with the bits of
salve/talk we
used
to help us both
in some small way
better heal
I just pray this
is true
and I thank you
my sweet Lord
for giving me
this doorway
in words
to quietly walk through...............
(Dec. 30, 2010 655am)
This one is so rhythmic,
This one is so rhythmic, smoothly flowing like a stream or a waterfall, and very meaningful but sad. It’s natural to feel sad sometimes since nothing perfect in life. Sadness, I believe, can often be a fuel for creativity in art and literature. This thought somehow reminds me of what a French poet and novelist, Alfredde Musset, once said:
“Whatever the worry your youth has endured,
Let it grow, this holy wound
That the black seraphim have left in the depth of your heart;
Nothing makes us so grand as an immense pain,
But to be touched by it, don't think, o poet,
That your voice here on earth should remain quiet,
The most desperate are the most beautiful chants,
And I know a few that are pure sobs.”
Wow
is so hard to believe Fahad but I've been divorced from this man I'm speaking of in this poem for over two years now. Am so glad I am long through those tough times. Thank you for your wise wise words even if they were lifted from another. You were a messenger and friend of hope. Long live that planted olive branch you imparted upon my psyche so long ago. Love your friend M.