Wreckage. (Poem)

Tammy T. Stone

Tammy T. Stone

This poem was inspired experiences I’ve had exploring the ancestral wisdom that lives inside us all… … and the lineage of connection that binds us to our own history, in all the glory and also terror this can evoke.

Some of our connections live within our memories and conscious minds, and others lay buried deep within, going back generations and generations, waiting for our attention, love and even redemption. Sitting with our hearts with the intention of plumbing the depths and going beyond what we’ve known to be our reality thus far, to discover more about who, how and why we are is a beautiful, if heart-rendering part of growth.

This poem was inspired experiences I’ve had exploring the ancestral wisdom that lives inside us all… … and the lineage of connection that binds us to our own history, in all the glory and also terror this can evoke. Some of our connections live within our memories and conscious minds, and others lay buried deep within, going back generations and generations, waiting for our attention, love and even redemption. Sitting with our hearts with the intention of plumbing the depths and going beyond what we’ve known to be our reality thus far, to discover more about who, how and why we are is a beautiful, if heart-rendering part of growth.

Wreckage

On a misty evening past rain,
with dusk giving way to the
blanket of a cloudless night, I
lower my head, as though
for a moment I can turn
away, and wait for the
voices to come wafting
up from the ground, through
open windows onto hollowed
land. The night is long. I would not hide:
I cannot resist their cries the
way bamboo hushes to withstand
the rough winds of a stormy
afternoon. I tremble under the weight
of their pleas; my heart has songs
in it they have heard countless
times before, a refuge for
dreams torn and plundered.
We merge within the vast,
cracked landscape of my
chest, hoping, together, to appease
long, stranded generations, if
for a moment. It comes to this:
the piercing shrieks of
the wounded clawing deep
within until I fall to my knees,
begging forgiveness, for midnight’s
love lost, searching wildly for
nature’s arms, for love enduring,
to let them fly, and free them
from the wreckage and release
me like a soft forest creature
fumbling in fright through the
war of first night into the
fragile light of day.

This poem was recently published with Journey of the heart, here. It will also appear in the forthcoming collection of poetry, “Where Journey’s Meet: The Voice of Women’s Poetry” – see the trailer here!

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