I was born at the birth of a bridge...
A palindrom, arms open to bridge
a chasm
a meeting in the middle of nowhere:
my old dream.
A two way nonsense that makes sense
somewhere in the middle.
A mirror carefully placed
on my face
the perfect simmetry
of you,
(both) life and death
- a cemetery for both me and you - .
I was born on the other side, the other side of that mirror
you want me to carry.
A bridge reunites two sides of a coin. Though sometimes I'm an island
in spellbound isolation.
An island reunites with the sea, and from the middle of the bridge,
you can choose your nowhere.
The bridge is my tree. I sit at its roots, watch its shadow over the sea.
But when I'm tired of roots and anchors, I sail again to become an island.
A fatherless I-land, unprotected by a fatherland:
a featherland.
I am from everywhere.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
This poem had breathtaking imagery and language and speaks to me of recovering our own divine love from within, our birthright.
Blessings, Christine
I really love that you are an "I-land". I feel very much hat way too--especially father-less just now. These are visuals and ideas I want to explore more. --Charlie
Ron
There is a story the says babies still know the secrets of the universe, and the other side. Their cooing and billing is an attempt to tell their adults what they still know. But alas, but the time they are able to talk and express concepts, they have forgotten the things they were trying to tell us.
I love this poetry.
Walt
the witnessing with your young life...happy to see
you posting again!
Always,
Deborah
Regis