I. It’s easy to have no regrets when you never look back. Avoiding photographs and sunshine. Keeping the albums closed. One lives for the future instead of the past. Always seeking to forsake the now, But accidents happen and the dusty old box is found in the attic of forgetting, right where Pandora left it, hoping to protect the world. Evil scratches at the lid and the sound is irresistible to a hungry mind looking for a way to sooth a yearning heart. Maybe a link can be made to make sense of the ache. Maybe whatever we sense is missing waits inside. To open the box is easy. The lock was only an illusion to help us feel safe. Out fly the heartbreaks and broken dreams. Apparitions of love and shadows of sickness flitting before me, fighting for focus. Now Death has roots in the soil of my youth tilling and turning to ash. A flash of what's coming connects to all that I’ve been running from. I thought I was stronger than this. But no one can contend with how they were made; the shape of it embossed on our fingertips. We try to reach beyond, but the prints we leave behind are always catching up. Turn around and there your marks are all in the shape of you. We run so fast and jump so high hoping to transcend. But origins live not only in beginnings; they wait for us in the end. So many times I moved away from where I started, I got closer to it every step I took. For the earth is round and time is a circle. And if we're brave enough to look upon everything we’ve touched, we'll see all the colors used in the threads to weave the tapestry of our love. II. All the times you stepped on the cracks and hoped that no one saw. All the times you loved a dream until your heart was raw. Every shattered piece of you when you found out you were wrong. All the ways you feigned a face in hopes you would be loved. The times you thought you saw the light shining from above, to find the Phoenix fire spread to the wings of the dove, descended into your heart, and now you walk through the woes and wreckage of all your fires that brought so many to the close. You never got to see the alchemy when once again they rose, stronger and wiser lifted upon the wheel that always s turns. For new and magic skin grows in the places we were burned. All the pain and struggle endured, and every throbbing scar becomes the sacred stain we use to paint a greater heart. Copyright © Sheyorah Naify, 2021
A Greater Heart
Acceptance, Endings, freeverse, growth, New Beginnings, Philosophy, Poetry, Self Acceptance, 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.