Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet
Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet Poet
patriciajj1 - Go to Author's Site
Antique Light
Resurrection in Albemarle County



Resurrection in Albemarle County













They say dig two graves before you stalk
the ambrosial prize of revenge, and I did,
until my own grave appeared sweeter,

so I've come here to the mountain to hunt
the reclusive angels I suspect horde serenity
for cases like me,
but so far I've only been baptized by waves of wind
and accepted into the order of everyday wonders,
even the sassafras, the breathing field, the violets,
closer to any prayer I've ever attempted.

Yes, the world broke us, and we can't unhear it
or unsee it and we certainly can't unfeel it and
there's no dismantling a tower so tightly
packed with rage.

A weathered flag hangs with defiance
from a dozing gray barn below the skyline—
the wheeling crows aren't impressed, and the
colors of freedom look unconvincing
next to the evening sky: a commotion of
phosphorescence and peace. A grander finale
could not be of this world, but still
no angels, no rest.


So what's it like to to step out of the snickering
riddle of day and into the perfection
of nothing?

No wings, no answers needed there, just an
unremarkable and wandering now—
a motionless flight in all directions.

But still I'd rather thirst
than drink the courage . . .
So close.


Over there is a gift, a life actually,
tethered to unabashed joy and also its shadow;
after all, it's one current, one Universe,
one thought.

The only catch:
Forgiveness is the only bridge out of here.

And all of Heaven holds its breath. So do the finches
and wrens in a cathedral of sound; so do the
mountains with their countless shades of happiness,
still unmoved in godly indifference; so do the
insects screeching in and out of shadow worlds; also
the territories of soul we have to believe in
or nothing makes sense.


No, I won't do it for my enemies, but I will for
the satin rest I deserve, for the merciful death of
blistering blame, for a heart that doesn't claw and twist
itself to death a thousand times a day.

I take a step,
and I can see for the first time in years.


Patricia Joan Jones
































© patriciajj1 - all rights reserved.

Please Critique This Poem
Excellent Good Average Poor Bad

Comments

Email
(Optional)

 
Sign Guestbook Read Guestbook

Last Five

© Resurrection in Albemarle County
© A Dialogue With Silence
© Growing Past the Dream
© Deadly and Merciful Blue
© Sky Full of Legends

Welcome | Writing Resources | Poets | Search | Poems | Free Poet Site | Contact Us | Publish Poem | Love Poems | Advertise

Copyright © 1998 - 2006 PoetryVista.com TM and individual poets -- All rights reserved.