Monday, 19 January 2015

For balance- here''s an old one of mine

The Evangelist

He's a hollow man
All on the outside.
All noise and certitude.
His jaws clack-clack-clacking.
Everything is alright as long as he keeps talking,
Proclaiming. Filling the silence.

Because in silence there is space,
Emptiness, longing.
He shouts and no-one listens.
He knows the words by heart,
A well-worn groove,
That jumps and repeats repeats repeats.

His greatest terror lies within.
What lives in there leaves him
Trembling under the bedclothes
Scarcely breathing.
In the silence he hears their pant and shuffle.
The monsters of his deep.

That place his terror keeps at bay,
That unknown locked away room
In the attic of his soul contains
A shrivelled tiny seed,
Abandoned, alone, waterless,
Un-nourished, waiting waiting waiting

For a chink to open, a crack to appear,
To let in, maybe, oh! maybe!
A single ray of light.
And maybe, Oh! Let it be!
An ear, that finally listens,
And hears his own tiny desperate voice,
Calling "I am here!"

©Cath Blackfeather

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