Crying in the soul 

  
What is the use of the heart that is weighed down with screeching demons

Hush hush I say

But it doesn’t soothe

All fine I say

Oh how can it be
The waves of grief

The screams of guilt

Do not match the lushness

Of spacious peace
Be gone I say

It stays

Like an eternal thorn grown into the wound

Deeper and deeper

Till it is pierced forever with the ache of loss
It doesn’t cry

It quietly bleeds again and again

The air fills it with sweetness touches sometime

But it passes like the wind kisses the tree tops momentous, fleeting, whimsical
Surrender you say

I will die if I do but if I don’t, I die too

Two different ends, perhaps, the agony is less when sitting still in the witnessing of your own heart’s crying
Cry I say

No no

If I do I melt into nothingness that is not sweet

Cry I say cry and welcome solutio of the spirit washing over your wounded soul
I sit I stare I cry I wale

I pause with no breath

I see with no seeing

I hear not of the world but of my own soul trapped like a bird in a cage

I surrender I am tired I let it wash all over I don’t speak harshly to myself or the wound 
What stirs is the flow of something else

Hope, perhaps

Light, perhaps

It’s cloudy, but there

Out of focus, but felt ever so faintly
Perhaps, I say, perhaps…