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Poetry offerings from Deborah Finch | Poem

Poetry offerings from Deborah Finch


  Saved.  Can I be?

  Nothing can be more like prison
  than the hell of one's own thinking,
  knowing one has failed to serve
  the truths of one's identity.

  Nothing to do but bury 
  the trauma of self-betrayal
  in a hollow of deepening silence.

  Where is the essential love,
  soulful beat I yearn for?
  Where is my personal Eden,
  the peace, small place I belong?

  "Say who you are - be seen",
  he (who?) says, or is it she,
  me, who reaches beyond you
  while you hold me steady.

  Spreading in the cerebral splendor
  of dawn, your gift of knowledge
  fills me, ignites black forests,
  flaming a path into heaven.

  Is that opening there in the distance
  a new beginning for me?
  Catch it, Soul, with your toe,
  before the firs close over it.
  Enter it, it's open, be in it.  Be.

Letter From Greenland  /  My Daughter's Paint Brush

My Brother's Room  /  Bosque del Apache

Bay Bridge  /  Amanda