12
votes
Rose (a poem)
With my left hand I embrace and repel.
With my right hand I create and destroy.
I stand before you, both hands free.
We remember past hopes and joy.
Listen to this moment, presence of silence.
Nothing divides and nothing draws us close.
Attention is all we exchange,
Attention in the shape of rose.
I longed for witness. Before whom? No one.
Is my heart pure? No. But she insisted.
We give; and what are we but gifts?
Gifts we forgot we'd accepted.
To doubt is to attempt holding back time,
Lifting time's illusion by illusion.
I may trust, knowing that I trust.
At times we feel with precision.
We part our ways like rose petals in wind.
We will return when time again is still,
For no more delight but to see,
With no more longing to fulfil.
I forgot to say that this wasn't a new poem. I wrote it a few weeks ago.
Your critiques and commentaries are much appreciated. If you just want to say something, please also feel free to.
Maybe I’m over interpreting, but it reads like the thoughts of a nervous and emotionally vulnerable God during the course of creation.
What was the actual inspiration for this, if I can ask?
Thank you for your interest :)
I am nervous and emotionally vulnerable, but I don't think I have goddess-pretensions. I wrote this when I was caught in pangs of loneliness, wanting my friend, and thinking of my therapist. I was reading a book by Simone Weil at the time, and I don't think it's hard to find connections.
Thanks for sharing. I hope you’re feeling less lonely :)
I think I'm coping better. And I think, not to deny suffering, emotional pain may often contain a kernel of spiritual gift in it.
It's so nice of you to wish me well.