Lost!

Within my thoughts

to write a poem

never to return

from the land of metaphor,

or from the earth of the dead.

Many thoughts have crossed over

into the ancient storms of life

where my best, thus perform

in words and anecdotes,

or from the seas of the dead.

The emptiness of being

eludes me

perhaps I am at peace

I don’t know,

or from the interior realms of the dead.

My teachers, where have they gone?

In all my transparencies

and, in all my nakedness

who will guide me through the gates?

or from the skies of my ancestors.

(is this where I rest my poetic query?)

How far shall I wander:

In exegetic form, I wonder?

And, of whom shall I write, what, or why?

I cannot choose matter from the skies,

(is this where I rest my poetic query?)

I say not! Think! Explore the realms!

Who are my benefactors of verb and noun?

Shall I write of poets, scholars, or philosophers?

Peering through this veil for a higher consciousness,

or, let’s just get real –

I’ve written of darkness, pain, and of giving up,

but, never of another’s pain, so why not?

Marina Tsvetaeva was my choice last night –

I have not succumbed to learn of her fright

in a life torn by a horrendous life –

in tribute to one of the greats…

I have discovered of who I may write.