TRIGGER WARNING: This poem may contain content that brings up unhealed material in those with trauma. Please take care when reading this and make sure you have supportive help to assist in your process when needed. What tragedy to be marked when scars become a part of you, like a different heart or lungs: a place to live and breathe from. The greatest crime in overriding will is forcing an opening that never closes. Your grey steel bullet in my soft innocent pink. Your clamp to keep open my mouth, the pliers to rip out my teeth, my purity, my hope. Your ruthless spear in my tender guts. Your violent hands create my depth and scope, blindfolded. I walk bloody now, red footprints on dark carpet so no one sees. Crimson mix with Umber in the earth; I beg, Mother, take it, please. Take the fluids spilled from conquering and make them magma; burn it all to ash that holds the code for new life to find a way. Take my crystal tears and replace your precious minerals pillaged for our devices that convince us we are not alone and lead us away from you. Take this foreign rhythm in this alien heart and let these scars be what they are: the stripes of valor, tattoos of courage, without animate volition. Blindness, be an eagle with clear vision. Let the faun become the wolf in my veins. Sparrow of my spirit be the hawk of dawn. Body of gazelle be the foundation of a lion’s throne. Mother, give me your song once more that I may remember my own. And I will sing for Woman to bring her pieces back together: to gather the fragments of her soul within her and let them become whole. Restore the statue of Magdalene: cracks healed and majesty revealed in Astral light. Return all the petals of the Holy Rose and place it in the center of the Sacred Heart in her chest, and mine, beating in time with the only song to release the fear: Truth, the only song our essence hears. Let the tear and the hole become a vessel of the soul for Spirit to fill to the brim. And from these Blessed waters let life begin again. Copyright © 2021, Sheyorah Naify
Cup of Life
Acceptance, Adversity, Confessional, Creative Writing, freeverse, Grief and Loss, Intention, Overcoming, Poetry, Prayers, Shadow Work, Transformation, trauma
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.
One response to “Cup of Life”
Beautiful composition! Great depth and understanding. The verses seem to have a language of their own😊….
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