The art of almost speaks in whispers of the waters and the wild;
every word,
every syllable as urgent as the next breath,
an enigma, so far away
and yet at times
so near sensing hours where conversation is craved
for we are designed to be shelters,
to carry pain on our shoulders,
lovely, dark and deep—
I am the mother of sorrows; I am the ender of grief;
let my hands remove the dark clouds of your day,
my heart bear the weight of your sky,
tread peacefully
through this abyss of humor and hate,
come share light
in the face of poisoned people; theirs is a sadness misguided.
I am a question in the name of humanity; I am the increase in chaos;
I have left my signature on rocky shores
with hues and shades of fuchsia sin,
each one a firm reminder of the kind of person I have been—
water and wild is taught by thirst,
filling the jar with shooting stars instead of tears;
still, if you find yourself silent at their altar, needing more,
know that something or the other has changed—
I am the keeper of secrets; I am an open book waiting to be read;
what is unsaid is often louder than a volume of words,
care to venture and find out?




Photo credits: “Spy Bar,” by Nick Alm Oil on Canvas, 40 × 40, Pinterest

Laura hosts at dVerse and invites us to build our poems around Paradox. I chose “I am the mother of sorrows; I am the ender
of grief;from Paul Dunbar’s The Paradox. Come join us! 💝

Posted for Poetics: Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites @ dVerse Poets Pub