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The wasteland


Flamborough Head, 2019

Quaking and vibrating

in this body, mine

giving myself permission, and

if I just had words to capture it;

if words were my only tool.

And if it wasn’t you, it was love

the earth that shook

and the shattering cry

we couldn’t bear to hear;

fearing hard.

“They say -

love takes you through hell”

I heard someone sing.

I’m on the other side now

missing you profoundly

noticing your absence quietly

in moments spent without.

And I wonder about your life;

father, son and boy

from this far shore;

my home, knowing you are gone.

It was a kind of violence

that ending,

a severance of us,

as if we’d never been.

And the closeness I felt

is replaced by nothing.

Yet I am there and it is in me;

that love, it’s mirror.

Convex to your concave,

printed on my skin.

Jobs everywhere, here

for thawing hands

and a heart that has despaired.

But the mammoth task

the mountain within

cannot be conquered by stealthy limbs,

only through letting go,

can I learn it’s holds;

that beautiful paradox.

And I must bravely trust

in that which I do not know,

like your intentions..

knowing words which break

can also make

like a Phoenix, rising from the flames.

And hope that my soul might leap

from the wasteland,

where it fell.

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