When Skeletons Whisper

As part of a personal exercise I am reading through my journal of the past five years. It has been a traumatic experience so far, to put it mildly. Here is a moment I would like to share with you, from a very long walk on a very cold night.


“Don’t try to understand me, it would make about as much sense as trying to drink the ocean in a tea cup. If the light of my words become too bright for you to see, do not ask me to explain, just close your eyes and watch the play of them across your eyelids. Feel it caressing your skin, stroking your soul, flooding your heart with the sweet memory of the Olde way.

Hearken to my call, it is time to arise, break free, dance… It is time to LIVE.

My path along the road is poetry, it sounds like…

“Leap” says the maple tree, going drip drip with winter rain

“Come see” says the road, pulling my tread, I follow the carrot


“Squish” says my soggy boot

“I’m here Mother” I whisper to the river, but she only tells me to


“Hello” a fern waves at me in the chilly wind

I wave in return, my leather jacket goes creak in the hush

Adding it’s own melody to the skies of 2 a.m.

“Crunch” in the driveway is my eager heel

Avoiding the smirking puddles

“Hope” whisper the pieces of my heart that gather in my footprints

Left in the wake of my silent passage

Glittering in the light of this blue moon

The broken pieces of me…”



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