POETRY
Living expressions of inner work. Offered as a glimpse of the process towards radical self-acceptance, healing, and growth.
Suffering Without Hope
One day I will wake
To find you hanging
Above a letter
I won’t need to read it
I already know why
You tell me daily
Different words
Same truth
Suffering without hope
I find myself
Silently mourning
A death
That’s yet to happen
Unable to stop
The inevitability
Of your choice
Despite knowing
You are making it
I should do more
But there’s nothing more I can do
Other than wait
One day I will wake
To find you hanging
Above a letter
I won’t need to read it
I already know why
You tell me daily
Different words
Same truth
Suffering without hope
I find myself
Silently mourning
A death
That’s yet to happen
Unable to stop
The inevitability
Of your choice
Despite knowing
You are making it
I should do more
But there’s nothing more I can do
Other than wait
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
a waterfall shaping rock
thoughts
relentless
a waterfall shaping rock
each drop
trivial
yet collectively
devastating
time
forms ruts
inescapable
consciousness
relentless
a river scarring land
each choice
trivial
yet collectively
devastating
thinking patterns
guiding future
flow
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
The Gift and the Choice
When you can see your future,
How do you choose?
Every option has suffering.
Every path leads to death.
Exponentially branching,
Your vision fades,
The deeper you go.
You can’t hold it all.
You don’t have the processing power.
It hurts you, this gift.
You feel it all, all at once.
So you block it,
Mentally put a stop to it.
You turn away from it,
And curse it.
This leaves you dull,
Blind to the beauty of your choice,
The choice you made,
The choice to turn your gift off.
For there is still life,
There is still love,
Vivid, like a flower in the dirt.
If you only knew
how to look.
When you can see your future,
How do you choose?
Every option has suffering.
Every path leads to death.
Exponentially branching,
Your vision fades,
The deeper you go.
You can’t hold it all.
You don’t have the processing power.
It hurts you, this gift.
You feel it all, all at once.
So you block it,
Mentally put a stop to it.
You turn away from it,
And curse it.
This leaves you dull,
Blind to the beauty of your choice,
The choice you made,
The choice to turn your gift off.
For there is still life,
There is still love,
Vivid, like a flower in the dirt.
If you only knew
how to look.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence