What can you do when you can do nothing?
When the nothingness surrounds you until it drowns you
in a well of wasted thoughts and wasted dreams and
wasted chances never seen, when
never becomes forever becomes
whatever you have or had or could ever possibly
hope to achieve
or believe--
Bold deceiver, this nothing.
*** This is an older poem, originally posted online in 2009.
The world has not become
What I’d always imagined
Dreamed
Believed
Hoped
I had faith
Once upon a time
In the beauty of humanity
In the power of community
Of togetherness
Of our oneness
Of us
One great, cosmic entity
A thing so vast
We
As individuals
As
Fragments
Can’t help but feel small
Insignificant
It is a deception that binds us
To nothing
To nothingness
To emptiness
We
Hold ourselves apart
Forgetting the part we play
In each others lives
Each others lies
Each others cries
We
Have forgotten
Empathy
Responsibility
Ethics
Respect
It’s you or me
Never both
We
Blame
Accuse
Criticize
Judge
Yet chafe at being
Blamed
Accused
Criticized
Judged
It’s not my fault
Never
My fault
We are
All of us
Selfish
Forgetting
The only self
That has true value
Is the vastness
Of the greater
Us
Why are we
If we can’t be
Us?
The world seems colder
Dark
So little Wisdom
So much Hate
No compromise
Only complaint
Two sides
Polarized
My truth
versus
Yours
In my youth
I saw a utopian
Future
Not this dystopian
Now
And yet
There is warmth
There are sparks
waiting
To be ignited
Can we still
kindle them
Together?
The above poem was written from the ether. Part something I’ve heard referred to as automatic writing, and part my own version of what I’ve long called blank page writing, the start of this work came without conscious thought and without any plan on my part. I was simply in a car when the first line appeared in my thoughts.
There is warmth.
As though whispered in my ear.
The rest came via a collaboration between my conscious efforts and my whisperer.
And who is my whisperer? Perhaps my too long silent muse. Perhaps a spirit guide I’ve failed to listen to for far too long.
I’ve been well protected all my life. I haven’t had an easy road, but I have been protected from harm. And I’ve experienced life-saving miracles. Quiet miracles, but miracles nonetheless. I’ve had protectors.
And I have always had whisperers, muses encouraging me to craft words into stories and poems. But a few years ago they went silent. Or I stopped listening.
The following poem is a small start. Nothing to set the world on fire. Still, it’s a start.
softly
a whisper
stirring the drapes
a kiss
in the darkness
no words
just
this
September, 2014
An ethereal pull
to the edge of creation
Just to the edge
The spark beyond remains
beyond
out of reach
forever
out of reach
The fruit
yellow and sweet
soothes the thirst
yet that
too
remains
December, 2014
The Silent Night….
It lingers deep in desert canyons
wafting with a gentle glow
over jagged rocks and dusty hollows
marking every crevice
hard to hold
and yet
so worth the effort!
Don’t let go.
April 11, 2016
Fog.
It rolls thick and deep
filling dreams
with vague portents
visions clouded
with the noise of
forgetting
willing into truth
the dragon’s horde of lies
tarnished ribbons
unspent coins
cheapened by apathy
Words feed me
They lead me
Pulling thoughts from deep
Inside
From thoughts to words
They guide
Yet now
They hide
Words fail me
They derail me
Culling thoughts from dried up
Wells
From thoughts to shells
They break me
Forsake
Me
Just empty
Words
Becalmed
Caught
In between
Waiting
Anxious
Is the storm here
Or is it coming?
Becoming…
What?
I reach
For stars
For dreams
For people
I reach to people
I try to guide them
I hope to be guided by them
I reach
I don’t always connect
Or sometimes I connect
Without knowing
Blinded by distance
By resistance
By dreams
We reach
And two Clouds find us
Connect us
One born of circuitry
One of spirituality
We reach
And teach
Each other
Debra Kraft’s Edge of Words 