Cosmic Paperweight

I travel in reverse, and the span of a year back-pedals,
I travel back to affront that which gnaws at me like acid,
The valley opens up before me, the seat of fear, the landscape
         of sorrow,
The crossing of the boulevards reminds me  of the pushing
         weakness in mind that planted this foreboding  in
         me in the first place,
Like old Ulysses, Tennyson’s Ulysses—old and impotent—
         I return to my people to say farewell again, to
         visit the ruins that I left to see what was built
         in my absence,
*           *           *
Mozart’s Requiem is playing in my head, it is the most
         tangible thing I know:
        
         Dies irae, Dies illa—solvet saeclum in favilla—
         Teste David cum Sibyla
The day of wrath, that day shall dissolve the world in ashes
         as witnessed by David and Sibyl,
         Quantus tremor est futurus—Quando judex est venturus—
         Cuntcta stricte discussurus
What trembling shall there be when the judge shall come
         who shall thresh out all thoroughly
*           *           *
Nature has no mercy,
Nature has no wrath,
Nature only has meaning in how we perceive it,
Dickinson said, “There is a certain slant of light—
winter afternoons—which oppresses like the
heft of cathedral tunes”
Nature vexes and hexes, lifts and shift, moves
and proves me,
Before nature I stand naked with humility, knowing
         all parts of me are small and insignificant,
I am no more than a weight to keep the patch of  dirt
         on which I stand from shifting beneath me—
         a cosmic paperweight,
But as I gather my voice before you, in the realm ruled
         by the pen, I have a voice, and the voice calls to
         you to rise and feel the smooth walls of your hidden
         sectors,
Breathe a spiritual breath with me and know your soul,
Pick up your boot-soles and say hello to Walt Whitman,
         for he is there, we are there—you and I,
We will walk hand in hand across the boulevards and see
         that the world goes on without us, progresses
         without our influence,
We are only significant when we raise our voices,
Breathe in and allow your own voice to penetrate the page,
         never restrain the natural meter of your breath—that

         is where your spirit abides.

~Keep Walking

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About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
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4 Responses to Cosmic Paperweight

  1. Pingback: The Celebrate Poet of September Award Nomination Announcement | Promising Poets' Parking Lot

  2. Jingle says:

    your words are deep.
    lovely job.

  3. Pingback: The Celebrate Poet of September Awards (Officially Won Via Votes) | Promising Poets' Parking Lot

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