Chapter 134


Beautiful Angel, breathe on me
Breathe the breath of serenity
Let me inhale, implore I you
A colour, a tint, a worthwhile hue

Teach me to see, force me to be
Let me be else, that never I’ve been
Give me a soul; I’ve never had such
I reach into my heart and there’s nothing to touch

For I’m unlike the others. Of that they know not
Nor could they guess, come diamond to rot
Endure as I do, delay as I may
Come June,… August,…December,…then May,…

Chained up am I, if I may say “I”
For “I” doesn’t exist, when this one says “I”
Not in the way this one wants “I” to be
This one craves to refer to else as “me”

Angel, hear, are you there?
Talks this one to empty air?
(Familiar as would be such task
For no other either hears through this mask)

Near-desperate now, walks this one on
Dreary, weary, and weather-worn
The soles of these shoes have worn so thin
That as this one walks, the ground touches skin
Shall never, ever, this woeful one find
Whatever it takes to unlock these binds?
Destined is this one to remain bound
To grey and black boulders, weighing it down?

Suffers this heart forever to beat?
Surely will come an event so sweet
That will finally still the searching, the weeping….
With velvety night, comes eternal sleeping.

Nyxii Nyxii
26-30, F
3 Responses Nov 17, 2011

Whenever I read this I can't remember why I chose "talks" over "speaks". "Talks" always grated on me; there must have been a reason I chose it in the first place, but that reason is lost to me now.<br />
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I wrote this poem several years ago. When I think back I want to reach back to my younger self and help her heal somehow, talk to her, hug her, be there for her. She was in such darkness in the soul. I would never want another person to go through life like that. Sometimes it seems like she's still there, another self, somewhere existing back then where I can't really reach. <br />
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But she's not me. I differentiate between my past self, my future self, the self I converse with presently, and me. I can't even direct anger toward who hurt me years ago, because it wasn't me he hurt, it was someone else, and it no longer feels like a personal anger. He did it to someone else, not me, and it was not such a terrible situation from an outsider's point of view. Rather standard fare.<br />
I was considering this, recently. I have found my power back not through revenge or eternal refusal of forgiveness. Nor have I severed chains to negative emotions through the relevent successful forgiveness. That era itself no longer belongs to me. Someone else was there, and how can I feel personal emotions about what happened to someone else? It hardly interests me anymore.<br />
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There is something to be said for forgiveness. It's probably a significant weakness of mine. "We should be too big to take offense, and too noble to give it." Well, Abraham Lincoln must have been a much bigger man than I am, it would seem. But I'm growing.

I like this too<br />
I am not sure though why it has one line in German

I like this.

Thank you, both