Descension

Something is shifting.
It has felt heavy and loud
in my soul for a while.
It twists in my stomach
And lurches upward
Squeezing my heart
Tighter and tighter until
I can’t breathe
Then it weaves its slimy black sludge claws
Into my mind
And plants seeds of doubt, fear, hopelessness
Until they bloom
Oozing the thick tar of my descension
What does it mean?
Where does it come from?
I thought I was through
I thought I was in the clear
Didn’t I already learn this lesson?
And I notice the giant black infection
Of fear
expanding, enveloping me
In its unrelenting grip
What am I afraid of?
Fear, what are you trying to show me?
I move toward it now
I embrace it back
Shining every shred of light I have left
Toward it
Begging it to tell me what it wants
And I see
Tiny pricks of light
Piercing through the thick, black darkness
I left my light, my energy, my joy, behind
Somewhere on the trail
Like a lost glove
Being blown away by the wind
Left to dance its way through the wilderness
Is it even still mine?
Did someone find it?
Did they pick up
And turn it over, curious who it belonged to
Did they take it home and try it on?
Did something about my essence affect them in some way?
I miss it
Why do I keep doing that?
Giving away my light?
When all I’m trying to do
Is shine on those I love
On those who need a light in their own darkness
Because I know how deeply painful and dark it is
To wander this world in the dark
Alone
Maybe I overwhelm and blind with my light because I feel so desperate to connect
Yet somehow, my light is too bright, too glaring, too intense
Even for those who, at first, thought they liked basking in the glory
And I remember that even the Sun, who shines unapologetically, gets too hot sometimes
And may unintentionally burn you
But she keeps on shining
And we love her for it
And we welcome the clouds and the rain and night and the winter
And when they come, we miss the Sun
And long for her return
For the pink spring sunrise
For the glowing summer sunsets
And bright autumn mornings
I wonder if the Sun misses me too when the night comes
I wonder if she feels lonely and scared too
Maybe she sees me
As much as I see her

I'd love to hear what you have to say about the episode including thoughts on the poetry and the topics that were discussed. You can email me at poetdelayed@gmail.com.

My books of poetry, My Mother Sleeps and The Ghost of a Beating Heart are availabe for purchase at

Amazon.com

Special Guest: Sherrie Love.