Eye of the Storm
Oct 21st, 2005 by Ree Joy
for manzelle
BobReads:
The bite of rain
on my face
fails to take me past
the cold
where your spirit nurses
the warm that’s left of your days.
It hurts me to lose what you have gained,
makes that sorry part of me
wish I was
in your place, gouging life
from all that remains.
The lash of wind
on my cheeks
takes the resolve away
to stay until
life cuts me to the bone,
for I am coward still, to living;
while you, trembling proud to the end,
hear the music of the spheres
inside you,
where tempests roil,
and robins drown silence.
The whip of life
within me
is a coiled murmur stilled,
in helpless misery
by the blazing fire in your veins,
where you do battle with the enemy,
sinew and bone to their cruelest guns,
and gloriously fight you will,
while I,
humbled by your will,
wait to bury my own hopes.
In silence still,
I bow past
this hurricane, waiting
for the roll of the dice
to tell me I have won, or lost
my uncertain turn,
at finding out if I might fare worse,
or fight, tooth and nail, like you now do,
against fate,
against the wheel of time,
and death the only victor.
First, it is absolutely WONDERFUL to have you back. I have missed your poems, insights,etc. I feel like I have missed a lot since I have only seen your last blog…but it looks as though you have been writing. I can’t wait to read.
This poem is a wonderful example of an adoration that is too powerful for images. My favorite stanza:
The lash of wind
on my cheeks
takes the resolve away
to stay until
life cuts me to the bone,
for I am coward still, to living;
while you, trembling proud to the end,
hear the music of the spheres
inside you,
where tempests roil,
and robins drown silence.
This entire poem feels like a tempest, but the idea of the robins drowning the silence brings hope and beauty back into such a chaos. Well done!!
thank you, stan…
i wrote this for one of my dearest friends. she has pancreatic cancer, and is now battling this dreaded enemy. i wrestled with grief when i heard one of her doctors say that, so far, this kind of cancer only has a 1% recovery rate. i wondered, how might i fare, when my own lights start to dim on me.
compared to what she fights, my problems seem so miniscule. if i could, i would gladly give her what i have. doubtless, she would have a greater idea on how to spend it, and how to spend it well.
take care, stan. and love long, for life is infinitely short.