Author Information
Boarded Church's.
I feel the constant struggle
To trust the instincts of the heart
In quiet moments in my room’
Looking out across the stars
It’s some kind of silent notion
It’s not the bone against my back
But shafts of curious light
Sometimes coming through the black
I feel the weight of fear’s
They are inner boarded church’s.
The dead ends and defeats
Of all the fights
And all the searches’
I dream of coloured hill tops
And crosses in a row
I see the wood go up in flames
And rising clouds of smoke.
The way that I reach out to you
Is not easy to explain.
Amongst the mess of feelings
It’s just trying to attain-
A sense of still and quiet
Against all the noise and pain
More intimate than quiet prayer
Beneath the surface of my frame
I agree with Dylan. It is
I agree with Dylan. It is not as easy as everyone thinks to convey images, memories and feelings in the reader's mind like this poem does. Well done.
This is a wonderful poem.
I’ve read most of your work here today, from the latest pieces of art to this bit of your heart. This poem caught my eye and then every other part of my being. The sense I get from your words is the aesthetic of a literary mind which practices such feelings in her writings, that the pictorial, musical, and developed textual ideas came bursting off the page.
Peace
Dylan
"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"
Dylan Eliot
wow
thank you so much, that makes me feel amazing. i am so glad you take that from my work. Peace and love, R X
please read my poems, and enjoy the real-life drama that is my life!