Winds of change blow
through the Badlands of my soul.
Barren bones and parched earth
begging for blessed rain
caressing my cheek
like a comforting hand…
revealing secrets I’ve hidden
within my Shadow…
offering the promise of Dreams,
and one day, to carry me on that long flight Home…
I stand on the sharp edge of my soul
beneath the great Tree of Life…
the Tree’s shadow my only relief from the fierce Sun,
looking across the Void…
trying like hell not to miss you,
not to envy your brave crossing,
resisting sorrow, anger and regret for I know…
they cut me,
like the obsidian edge of my soul,
more finely than any false satisfactions offered…
The Tree and I seem the only living things
in the windswept silence,
the vast forbidding landscape
spread around us like rune stones
foretelling a future I’d rather not see.
Yet, through this one life, all lives connect.
I stand, pulling these thoughts
like splinters from my heart…
My heart, which hangs on the Tree
as Raven sings; spinning his tales of silk and barbed wire.
Glistening, silver edged,
full of mirrored potentials,
awash with memories,
my tears feed the Tree’s gripping roots.
The Grandfathers speak in Thunder…
vivid storms roll across my Badlands…
The rain comes…
and the parched earth within is grateful,
even as the flash flood carries pieces of me
over the sharp edge of my soul into the Void,
to wash up against the shores
of the path you've left behind you.
Balm for Grief was written before the shock and numbness wore off after our first grandson was struck by a car and killed at age 3. August 5, 2008 The Sharp Edge of My Soul arrived with the first waves of pain and grief sometime in that first blurred week or two. Writing has been some of the very Best therapy for me at every stage of being from grief to joy.