How Does Poetry Tell a Story?
Q: How Does Poetry Tell a Story?
A: There once was a maiden who yet knew rebirth,
she danced and she danced ‘round her perceived value and worth.
In her days of youth, she would commune with the creatures and plants,
seeking connection in every living thing, riding bareback in trance.
Through the forests with sunlight kissing her skin,
between shadows of leaves she found Nature’s kin.
Her innocence was a flame that began to grow dim,
as she grew, her attention was lost, seeking outside, not within.
There was no guidance to direct her to look otherwise inside,
so she continued a deep spiral of lies within lies.
Pain, suffering, self-destruction and loss,
all woven through her formative years, creating a veil of exhaust.
She had a power and she knew it, wielding it without grace,
yet she strengthened in her love without knowing her place.
Every step of the way, there was light she would follow,
it called to her, and called her in…and out, from her sorrows.
Love was her treasure, yet she knew not how to receive,
nor how to fully, or truly…to actually Be.
Searching and searching she would find glimmers of hope,
and then she would fall back, into a pit without ropes.
The climbing and gnawing at the raw crude earth taught her,
that regardless of her strength, her weakness was a saboteur.
Shedding of skin seemed like her natural super power,
yet she knew it came from within, only who gave it to her?
God, Goddess, Almighty, Lord,
these words are just words if not fully restored.
Walking and falling, and getting back up,
she made a plea to the Lord to cleanse not corrupt.
It was not He where her corruption and deception had sewn,
it was in her darkness that it had taken hold and rooted in bone.
From confusion she found…more confusion around,
invited into illusion that felt more solid than ground.
The use of the truth, woven into manipulated lies,
she was fed, then became a false paradise in her and others’ eyes.
Brought into her own inner hell, she explored the nature of darkness from the front row,
and her choice of glass mirror was that of a sociopath’s tornado.
He devoured her heart, nearly all but a flutter,
and from just a spark from within, she was saved from this gutter.
A new journey began as she died once again,
this time the cost was higher and the reprieve…light as Zen.
Humbled, destroyed, humiliated and beat,
she crawled on all fours to a soft earthen seat.
For once in her life, she had found what she sought,
and despite all her studies she had never been taught.
A knowing of love, formed over her body,
she rested and retreated into what felt like samadhi.
Days into weeks into months into years,
she continued to burn brighter and released many fears.
Creativity was her lifeline, the flame so inspired,
she, like a moth, dove right into the fire.
And the invitations continued, “go deeper into night”,
yet this time holding hands with the most Holy of sights.
For there is no alone and no fear that can’t be met,
as long as we are one and the trust has been set.
One day she felt, a tugging at her heart,
a pull towards a doorway through which she would part.
She listened and listened, letting go of her ideas,
and followed the light towards the wisdom of Sophia’s.
A small hint, a gem from a true friend was gifted,
observe this deep wound and your world will be lifted.
She followed the thread from mistrust into hatred,
in the searing of her flesh she knew the moment was sacred.
In the charred blackened world of depth and despair,
she found her Lord there, full of love and deep care.
Everything is possible, even a new heart of gold,
through her faith and her strength she was endearingly told.
A royal moment of pause followed suit in communion,
for the Lord’s omnipresence provided the truth of reunion.
Without breath to deceive herself anymore,
she inhaled a new life as never before.
Total freedom was found in that moment of His Glory,
and she fell to the earth, to touch the roots of this story.
For her life was not hers to waste or distract,
she accepted a call, aligned, utterly exact.
The darkness sloughed off and new skin was there born,
yet she knew there would be more of her flesh being torn.
The work, just beginning, a new vista of sights,
new sounds, new textures, new shadows and lights.
Thus a journey continues for this warrior maiden’s heart,
yet she knows that with God, she has a generous start.
Listen to the Audio Version HERE on Soundcloud.
