Her Sacrifice

Introspection strikes again. I've heard, and I believe, that the "next step", the big stretch in writing poetry, comes when one can step out of the autobiographic. I'm trying, but so many fantastic things have happened and continue to happen in my life that the task is difficult. I use the word "fantastic" in it's most literal sense: Some recent occurrences seem to be conceived of the most unrestrained imagination. They are nearly remarkable. They are marvelous. So I am left with my thoughts when I am quiet. Again...I am in my head. And I am drawn to comparative speculation. I am drawn to this autobiographic piece from earlier this year. I am sad as I read it. But with my sadness also comes acceptance that I needed to go through those emotions. I am grateful for the happiness and joy I feel each day, for the sadness I've experienced...because that sadness allows me to be comparative and to appreciate my joy...and for the courage to realize that this was about me when I wrote it.


Her Sacrifice

Internally apologetic,
She steadies the craft before she embarks.
Calm is her credo,
Or so it seems.

Like a lamb, she stares dumb-faced.
Sacrificially stupid and willing
To take the blunt force
Of the blow.

Amassed on the deck are
More sisters, more sheep.
Some seem to know better
But none will turn back.

The wind has turned cold
And the hour is now late.
This is her solitary meal of
Warmed-over optimism,

Served on a teak-smooth
Plank of hope.
Splashed by salty waves,
She sails toward her extinction.

1/21/2007 5:41:18 PM