Friday, August 29, 2014

From the Files 1

I wrote this poem on April 17, 1998. Back then I wrote a lot more poems and I remember that I never liked to go back and edit. I thought they should stay raw as if what came out the first time said what it needed to say. Tonight, thinking about what else I could add to my blog, I remembered I had a folder of poems and ideas for ones in the filing cabinet downstairs which I haven't looked at in many, many years. So get ready for  a lot of poetry.


who swallowed whose sorrow?
another night
she'd drown in her pillow
the outside world seems closed in
harder to breathe than to be seen
we're just ghosts crossing the scene
tired of sleeping
half of your eyes stay awake
in fear of what you will dream
In your life outside this world
I'm dropped from behind
left there to turn to dust
until worlds change because of
rules you cannot change
The finger seems branded by
the weather you can't explain
the house untidy, your way to
rebel, hoping the dust is
where I fell
the outside world deceives the steps
as soon as you're here again
eyes staying open
waiting for mine to shut
where life is not getting through
when your tongue pierces what is said to you
I can only dream of sleeping
until your ghosts have come clean
the images you shout at
won't let themselves out
I'll lay here wide awake
feeling the uneasiness of
your breath
In my eyes all you see
are sorrow's colors
refusing to look beyond
But my colors are
a reflection of you
where you stare long enough
at something you love
you begin to see
the thoughts they borrow
I know your breath is not of sleeping
waiting for me to drift
so you can leave
but when you leave something
you cannot see
it stays with you until
you notice the image in
the eyes that struggle
to get inside
where your world chokes
on your sorrow
I'll fast myself
if you need someone
to swallow sorrow

r.s. graybill

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