A go ny
I think of thoughts and pain unthinkable
Shutting the eyes seem easy,
but the pain is not sucked in.
It remains a reminder on the chest,
A go ny
I go in
Into my flesh
Reshaping into my skin...
but there are flabs of the past.
Things one can not let go
Because the end of the rope is burnt
and it hangs loose in our hearts.
So we wear hushes,
with the thrushes
burning our tongues
And carry on with long faces
as time jeers at our slow pace.
Before we learn to lift up our heads
and look at the world again...
The word on the street is that
everything new is old
And everything old is older.
We find the world has outgrown us.
We are just the excess cloth
life has tailored out.
Like the extra bogus allowances,
we are trimmed out
and shoved in the bin.
And so our tales end
and the curtain of another opens
beaming bright like the day we never remembered blaring hungry throats
into the world,
with hopeful and excited little feet
learning to take its first step.
But no one ever teaches you
how to walk the walk in life.
Because life may never publish
a manufacturer's manual.
Successful people offer
tiny journals of their journeys
and the undead seeking a way ahead
hurry to read.
There's no life without strife...
Show me a sky devoid of winds,
I'd show you the darkness
lurking behind deadbeat skies.
Show me life without woes
and I'd tell you the throes
are a stone-throw away.
Wait for it!
Is it the absence of sorrow?
Is it the leave of war?
It's the congruence of anomaly.
A state in which we exist.
One is the marker of the other.
In a-go-ny, we recall the times
we shared from the bowels of joy
ricocheting from the
lips of a loved one lost.
but I cannot put the word a-go-ny together,
for the tune it played last left a blast
where my heart used to reside.
I am healing, but without the organ in place.
We are healing. Our emotions will learn to improvise.
It's a process.
©® Whyte Queen