The Journey Poem by Ann Mckeeman

...there is a burning bleeding in my soul...
i am cut, like paper snowflakes from my youth...
- but held up to the light of the window of self, the complicated beauty of the folding and dissecting
...are missing..instead only a deep yawning crevasse, an ache with no balm..
..and darkness my constant companion, beckons me to come 'shush', and lie down on the fertile banks of this river of pain-
just for a while..fickle promises glibly dripping into my weary parched psyche...

not today my friend...today while i may writhe and silently weep
i will do so in the light of the meadows who's names escape me
in which i travel knowing only the echo of old battles, with the stench of dying to perfume the air
rather than the wildflowers' scent so light and innocent..

..not today..