On the bridge between thought and feeling.

Growing farther out. Breaching green and greater walls. To bless the road with waterfalls repulsed.
Within is all the speach of dust, I am the one who sees and cannot speak. I am you. Without.
Break my stern and trusted bench for rest is for the weary. I tire only when in need of guests.

The silence, match the shadow
in the absence of my kin.
To feed the cold and suffer so
is not the depth and breadth of warmth.

Quiet the hound in sleep, for pricing, harder now for beacon lights to beacon lights. I rest.
Disquiet silenced with the wandering of the eye, to lay upon sweet shadow and rest.
Confuse the sense that breaks the will, the sigh that wanders will never rest.

Guard the rambled sense
from the strength of will.
Winter breathes new light
and warmth for all again to see.

Seek me out when paths might choose to break the will of distant cold,
now, i rest, in warmer places, that I am now sold.

I like a poem that intrigues, that somehow catches my attention so that I want to read it again, and maybe even again. This one did just that. Nice work.

This is really wonderous. I am very grateful for your having posted this poem. I can relate a lot.

It’s odd as it seems that I’m only ever able to write in the winter of late. The warmth comes out, I guess, as you say, as winter breathes new light.

Thanks, I was in the creative writing section and just got a burst of adrenaline that accompanies the swirling of ideas in my head, looked out my window, which accompanies snatching one and started typing.
It’s so cathartic to just start writing with an idea that you can barely see or comprehend in your head and you see it clearly reflected and focused on the page/screen. It’s as close as you can get to putting pure idea into words. You lose the illusiory blur from the edges, which is a shame, though.

Why a shame?

I feel that communication betrays the purity of an idea, concept, feeling, or emotion. You have to shape it, cut away the edges, add bits on to make it amenable to communication. Something is always lost.

But we do not live in a universe of only “one”…though in a sense yes we live in a universe which is One.

But communication, communion is what gives thought and feeling meaning.

Something is always lost but something is always gained. And that is the :banana-dance: of life.

I am a recluse and this idea does not appeal to my spirit.
I think the bohemian and growth-centred mindset of the modern world is of that persuasion, that paradox of growth, that loss and gain are, in their dance of swapping place, both good.
I prefer the sway, back and forth, of great space and great distances of time. One can witness only, yet beautifully thus, in a glimpse and experience fleeting, yet never change.