11:23 Wednesday Night Poem

a poem

11:23 pm, Wednesday night

Alone in the night,
Hallelujah by design
During a Celtic salt bath,
And the sweep of sorrow
When at once I realize
I am no longer bound by the melancholia
Which once defined the edges of my soul.
And liberated, I find I love Jeff Buckley like a mother!
Not like a sister or a fantastic fairy lover.
And the beautiful loser is no more;

She is gone and
I Lost her,
Though in my mind's eye
Will I always treasure
This girl who gave me
Here.

Everything ever once I thought-
I have lost!

What have I gained?

No hallmark dainty, doily, soiled
No sense of righteousness, but still
An aggrandizement of wise one's pleas,
Mourned and lost as my pink rose deepens to red.

No one warned me
I would grow up.

Threatened, sure. Hoped! Of course.

(And I thought gravity would pull me down into the waters from whence I came,
The bends shifting my breathing into a mermaid's gills,
Liberated to die an old woman in a young girl's body,
Traces of an old poem I loved long ago, projecting my hurt into the skies as I
Join my seven sisters nigh)

Why then, such tears over the end of depression?

I am sad to find myself so happy.

Okay! Now we laugh.

Take a deep breath, little poet.
You're gonna make it after all.
So for what you have left,
What god dovetails, past life to future wife,
make it worthy of your
Flaming gorgeous heart.