memories

PERMISSION TO RISE

Am I brave enough yet to emerge,
to escape the regret,
to dismantle,
forget,
to demolish the surge of this
plundering ache,
to curb
and to conquer
and famish the quaking;
this suffering silence;
this violent breath taking.
Am I whole enough yet
to prohibit the shaking,
snaking my flesh with
its mandible gaping,
and I,
an invertebrate
sensing
it
raking
its
claws
like it’s tilling
a field in my pause.

– I AM –

I am soul enough, rousing to roar
– but will this awareness
alone be the door to implore me to forfeit,
renounce,
and withdraw from
this former attachment
to lapse while I stall,
while in fragments
I catch myself falling
before
I submit to this whiplash of
“worth less” and war,

mauling through self-harm,
rejecting my core.

Perhaps in my rapture
my courage will capture
the thrill of detaching,
unlatching,
resolving;
forgiving myself for my lack of evolving;
for dressing tornadoes I’d wade in,
dissolving,
while anchored by nought but
the grief I was holding
by swallowing pain
– almost framing each frame –
as the slower the memories,
the faster they came and the longer they’d last
it would tighten their hold,
and the closer they’d weave they would blindfold
and frighten,
and once I was frozen and broken,
– eyes widened –

they’d leave…

Perhaps fate will gift me
a shift from my history,
to bask in my victory
and mask my past injuries
and race to new mysteries
and questions,
unanswered,
and answers, un-asked
but desperately fancied
as I take on this task
to have finally been caste,
to have grown from my hate,
to have flown past a place
where my purpose was faceless
to race to a moment I have hungered to taste
in a time I had dreamt of
instead of erased –

to a piece of the peace I deserve,
and a truth to embrace.

Will the aching forsake me at last
and the healing re-take me – its journey as vast
as the path it will trace
to re-shape me,
I ask,
and will it profess to regress to
a time I could heave less,
bereaved less, and
survive long enough to emerge
at my boldest and best?

The answer,
is
“yes”.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 April 2018

BOOK OF LIVING DREAMS

In waking sleep we all expire,
remote organics built to tire –
searching lusts for something more
to fill our souls beyond our core

We lay awake inside a dream,
asleep within a constant stream,
alone, in part, to wander, lost,
with passing time our only cost

We play as shadows holding hands
with eyes wide closed and few demands,
our every moment briefly clashing;
fast forgotten memories flashing

Here, we count down from our birth
with time a thief upon this earth –
purpose teased at every corner,
Chinese Whispers our informer

But all will realise when we’re gone
that we were dreaming every song –
that death becomes another story;
a painless world of allegory

I fear we write this book forever
as single pages bound together
to lay inside our reader’s minds
in passing paragraphs of time

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 21st January, 2017

THOUGHT #383

There is no release like holding tightly on to memories.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 1 August, 2011