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Eleonora Woods Poems
Silence is trailing through the dark where I wake empty looking back. my love is gone, hunting the sacred grounds. The bone he left is brittle failing sadly
The assignment said to write about what you're afraid of and don't stop until you know. I am afraid of writing about what I am afraid of for I might find out of what I am afraid and I am very much afraid of that. But since I'm more afraid of people criticizing me and being cross, of having failed and feeling useless I write down what I'm afraid of and be done with it. With writing down I mean because being afraid goes on and on I am afraid. I am afraid of losing self control or food or loved ones or so called securities. I am afraid of what will happen when I'm not obliging anymore or listening. I am afraid of needing help for very basic things like going to the loo or lack of oxygen. I am afraid of losing money, of the panic and of needing help.
I am waiting for the Mother of All Things to come and wrap her arms around my father. Hold him tight against her bosom so he can not hurt my brother anymore or make him cry. To hold him tight and tell him that he does not have to worry anymore about responsibility and love. That all- will be well and himself most of all. That all the strife is over and no one will haunt him anymore. And that my little brother will be hugged an soothed and accompanied from dusk ‘till dawn by loving eyes and hands and will not run around with wailing mouth and ailing eyes no more. And certainly he will not hang on to my father anytime to ache for his attention. For he will be full of joy and light instead of stricken fright and dumbfounding delight. I long for her attention in this room where we all still participate in what we call: ‘Our Family’ that has been gone for many years now but still lives in every little heart that once was born between the two of those that stood at her beginning saying: ‘Yes, I Will’. Not knowing that they too were only wishing for the Mother of All Things to come. She never came until it was too late and we were each in turn beginning somewhere saying: ‘Yes I Will’.
I feel a reed walking around with a holy banner tied to it and find the shreds are clinging to the people in the street who
Who Might You Be?
My Love Blessing The Plastic
Toward The Heart
Comments about Eleonora Woods
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Silence is trailing through the dark where
I wake empty looking back.
my love is gone, hunting the sacred grounds.
The bone he left is brittle failing sadly
no other thing except the memory of ailing health
The days are barren for my love is gone.
Hunting the sacred grounds