I burned my stories and poems yesterday;
They were "controversial", full of longing;
My fantasies, my secret hidden dreams...desires...
Afraid to find them becoming reality !
Afraid to have someone else find them,
And read them,
Not knowing of my tendency.
Never having acted upon it, I found
Release through writing;
Living vicariously through characters
That truly are another facet of myself.
My "Other Self".
She must remain in shadow!
Her urges and desires will continue
Unfulfilled, unrequited.
The ashes of my writing are buried
In my backyard garden.
Flowers now bloom brightly among them;
Rain falls softly upon them.
Perhaps, someday, Phoenix-like
They will rise from their ashes
To fill blank white pages,
Their dormant longing for expression
Set free a last.
Like my flowers, they will bloom;
And someday, so may I.
Like the poet Emily Dickinson
Who penned prolific verse
To stash away in drawers
For others to find
After her demise;
Her innermost secrets revealed;
Oh, my!! Am I ??
My verses and stories writ,
Placed aside and hidden
Away from prying eyes
Of those who'd misunderstand
The meaning of my words,
The longings of my soul,
My secret other self;
I sigh. Am I ??
Like Emily, I write,
Pouring out my heart
In poetry and prose
Pondering all the while
the Secret that we share.
Our nectars went unsipped;
Our wings remained untried;
But why? We cry.
Emily, and I.
Walk with me, hand in hand
Down narrow wooded pathways
Winding through fragrant pines,
Their shed needles
Crunching beneath our feet.
Above, a rainbow canopy
Spreads its arms skyward;
Autumn splendor in gold and crimson,
Soon to be released
To form a brilliant carpet
Over this ground we tread.
I feel your presence here
Among these silent trees;
Nature's cycles eternally repeating,
Bringing spring again,
And new life.
Your spirit is enmeshed with mine
In an eternal dance;
We pirouette; we flow together
And then apart,
Always reaching, reaching,
for each others souls.
It will not be long, my love;
We will come together again
In our forever spiral Dance of Life.
I feel her stirring deep within my soul;
A nagging, constant yearning to express
That secret part of me that cannot show
Her shadowed, hidden face to anyone.
She paces restlessly, a Lioness
Encaged, enraged, kept jailed by iron bars
Which others place around her sinuous form,
Locking her within a cold, dark cell.
She roars, she cries, she stretches, testing bonds
Which press relentlessly upon her flesh;
Her amber eyes afire, she yearns to run,
But never feels the rush sweet freedom brings!
Remaining in abeyance, peering out
So longing for another of her kind
To rub against, to purr, to paw and roll
In joyous ecstasy of feline power!
Her freedom ne'er will come, I am afraid;
This wild and wanton part of her remains
Forever caged, yet freed vicariously
If only by the words upon this page.
We pass each other
On city streets
In country stores
In malls, at libraries
In Church, at restaurants,
Walking dogs in parks
In bank lines, bakeries,
Waiting rooms, classes, gyms:
One glance, recognition !
A sister, a heartbeat
Skips, then flutters;
One blink, she's gone,
Connection broken.
Oh, how I long
For just one "hello" !
One knowing smile!
Dare I speak first???
Or continue
To pass each other
On city streets...........
Did you hear me....
As I whispered your name last night
Before falling asleep...
Did you feel me....
Was my presence beside you
As you drifted among your dreams....
Did you sense me....
As I gazed upon your tranquil, sleeping face...
Did you touch me...
When you opened your eyes, and reached out,
Feeling only a soft breeze....
Did you hear me...
As I sighed like the wind,
Gently ruffling your hair
As I bid you sweet farewell.....
I so wish to meet
Someone like me...
Lost all these years
To who and what
I really am...
Secretly longing, wondering
Just how many others
Are going silently
Through their lives,
Beneath a disguise
Of "normalcy".
We are a vast legion
Being held at bay;
Someday, perhaps,
We will be able
To emerge,
Without prejudice, or judgment,
And prove to the world
That "normal" comes
In many persuasions.
I'm pulling weeds in my garden,
And I start thinking
About removing things we don't want
And casting out what doesn't fit in;
Tossing aside the undesired, the different,
The non-conforming, unwelcome,
Unwanted, ugly
Weeds.
A plant is a plant;
It's only the way
One looks at it;
We're taught which ones
the weeds are
From early childhood.
They're not welcome in the garden!
And is not a person, a person ?
Why are some weeded out, not welcome?
Oh, how we ALL loved dandelions
When we were kids!
If you have enjoyed K. Byron's Poetry, then please be certain to Contact The Poet and thank her for posting her Work.
Click here for a list of all of K. Byron's Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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