To Ash

[Raven (ARGD)]

Oh, don’t ask me to write,
You aching dull piece of meat.
Look what you’ve done to me.
I sit, feeling my fingers move across keys
(I used to use ink when it was dearer to me),
My head laid back and facing away.
Writing is just something that happens to me now.

This used to be a tool for me,
A therapeutic process to draw out those pesky
Things that stirred inside.
I used to bleed this way.

My hands are powerless now,
Helpless as my exhausted mind.
There’s too much happening at once,
Filling me up and leaving no room
For breathing, or for growth.

I am angry… I recognize that.
Fury blisters and smokes in my lungs
As I attempt to filter in some clean air.
I can’t… I can’t- the feeling consumes me
There is no air left here- I’ve burned through it
And now it tastes of scorched flesh. My chest is tight
From the way it reaches for oxygen.

And I cannot deal with it… it’s too much, too much
Too many people, gone, too many feelings towards them
Waging war in a tiny fleshy thing
That can’t bear its own weight.
I shake with the cancerous reflexive affection
That infiltrates my shriveled organs,
And the many, many things
That fight those melting, oozing recollections.
So many… so many people and experiences,
Places and thoughts, words and intruders!

Hot words burn somewhere deep,
Buried in burnt sienna irises like a summer sunrise
I can feel it on my skin and dread
What it will bring with it to the surface.
I can’t make out the shapes of letters.
They blur in the simmering haze
Words cannot describe-

The lists and lists of words
That together, can’t touch what I’m feeling.
Words make sense; even the words
For what doesn’t make sense
Make more sense than what’s erupted
And combusted within me.

If you could feel me accelerating
Without your hand on my chest…
It does not rest- could you then
Comprehend what’s in me?

[Baywriter]

You're just on a roll, eh? (My new Canadian speak). I completely relate to what I believe the speaker is talking about in the this piece. Writing, for some of us, can lose its meaning. It's no longer something that makes us feel good, but rather something we must make ourselves do in order to satisfy the need. Just the need. Just the ideas we must exhaust. It's nothing about saying something important. It's just about saying. That feeling can be so destructive to a writer's spirit, particularly a poet's, I think because we are a little more "sensitive," say. I can feel that destruction in this poem, in the way it's written, the way it starts to unravel at the end with the repeated phrases like "I can't" and "many." The speaker desires to satisfy her creative urges, but is unsure if even she can understand why they're there or where they come or even what they mean. It's a fire turned into ash, I suppose, and it's hard to imagine what was there before in the midst of the remnants. Lots to think about in this poem! I like the way the language developed as the poem went on. Great OM work!

Bay

[gooseberry]

Wow,you describe so eloquently just how I am feeling too.And yet I can glimpse flames of inspiration in the very words you use to mourn their passing.Like Bay said,the writing develops more intensity as you progress.

I love some of the descriptions here,'you dull aching piece of meat'.That's priceless and I know that love for pen and paper because I still use them when I'm away from the computer.Despite that,I've become almost irritated with poetry lately and that seems to run right through this stunning piece of OM work.Really outstanding.

[Chelle]

So much emotion and description. Beautiful piece of writing and sometimes writing can be therapeutic even when it's just throwing words together. It's good to get things out.

[rupertpupkin]

Wonderful piece of writing. The picks for this week's spotlights are truly amazing. Well done with this.

[Mr D]

ya, i get that as well, when the past stirred worlds ive created and abandoned, ovulate... and the characters, evolving, demand life within my own, like you said, burning to surface from the depths of my ever calling Void. twas a better read than i expected, i admit
5years late, but glad i found it anyway
cheers