healing gracie

I was looking through some of my old journals today. These journals date back to when I was in junior high and high school. I couldn't believe some of the things I wrote about...so mundane and very repetitious. Then I came across my poetry journal. Yes, I write--or rather wrote--poetry.

I guess the reason why I don't write poetry anymore is because I'm always afraid of what will come out when I do. With poetry I tend to write what I feel and what I know (that pertains to all my writing now that I think about it). But with poetry, I don't know but it seems to tap more into the deeper stuff for me. Stuff that is buried deep in my unconscious or subconscious part of my mind. I'm afraid of it being all this dark, nightmarish stuff that has no light in it at all. I don't like the dark stuff...but I can't pretend it's not there either. Darkness thrives in obscurity...when it's not under your control. And then when you do look at it, it is more than you can bear.

So, after reading some of my poetry from my teenage years I've decided to try to take up poetry writing again. I would love to say that I have written a poem already, and I'm ready to share it with everyone...but, alas, I have not....I am not that proactive...yet. Writing poetry is difficult...it takes time, energy, and patience. It requires me to look deep inside myself. As I work on it I will be sure to share what I write. But for now, one my poems from my high school years will have to do.

In the darkness of life
There was a wild rosebush
With its delicate gems
Offering their fragrance and fragile beauty

Eyes fall upon the rosebush
She sees herself...as if looking into a mirror
Her hand reaches out
And tears fall as she understands...

...A seed of life is born into the world
Roots stretching forth into the earth
Seeking life
Is there light among the darkness?

She is still not yet in bloom
Her petals concealing a secret
They act as a wall of protection
As she is afraid to reveal her true self

Is there any beauty inside?
Beauty finds its roots
In experiences of the past
But only light gives strength enough for growth

The light exists
It rains down upon the rose
And her petals open
Receiving the light...

...Her eyes become as a mirror
Reflecting the rose
She sees into the rose, into herself
And she understands

The rose is sacred
To be admired and untouched by hand