The Ward; and a goodbye to Tildes.

Bishop
Wed, 13 Nov 2019 18:30:38 +0000

First, the piece.

I built a fire from the branches

which were missed by the snow.

Drank the water of the cacti

that in deserts still grow.

Found the shade in the south

where the sun forever glows.

Clawed and scraped my way to freedom

of likes I have never known.

.

A starved, abandoned cub

lost in Greenlandic champaign -

I pawed about the lifeless floors

of snow-imprisoned plains.

With wind ill-matted fur I marched

and shivered through the rain

in search of hearts and hearths to

make me home again.

.

A ward of warmth appeared, assumed

to aid my ailing mews.

A securing shawl of summer softened

me from winters shrewd.

A multitude of miracles revealed

rejuvenating news.

I concluded countless colder winds

are warmer without you.

This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.

Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.

In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.

I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.

I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.

Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.

It’s been fun.

Bishop.

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