Words: Too Many

January 29, 2017 (poem still in process -- will be shortened)

Words do not suffice today.

Did they ever make sense of this

Nonsense?

I do not know the pain of a

Refugee torn from roots of land and family

Physical Hunger or thirst

Lack of education

Terminal illness

Having to live in places or spaces of

Constantly battling threats of physical death

Constantly wondering if this breath will be

My last

And still, I know at least

One truth

Words alone are insufficient

And still I rely on them now

To send out a message

In this bottle, to the sea

From this island where

I hope to be rescued,

to step away from this strange

Isolation, even as I am surrounded

By Words without love

Not only those of loved ones who lied

Who still use lies to get their way

But those of my own mind,

Unstoppable at times

Unraveling, and mostly conflicted

How words have carelessly strangled

Or carefully twisted a life inside

a life of lives that beats inside of me.

I have stopped counting

How many now.

A person can be a prisoner

Inside a body of

Black, White

Red, Blue

Shiny and new, or bruised

Fighting, freezing, fleeing

Rich, Poor

And everything in between

I am capable, and allowed

To feel great sadness for my sisters

Who share this earth

Without sharing access to my opportunities

To grieve for all who live on this planet,

And yet lack access to clean water

and places of shelter to give them rest

For my brothers who only learn violence

And weapons as a way to defend

in the same world where I can choose

to detest and protest war, or deny it or just not care.

I can feel gratitude for being able to rest

In a bed for hours and

Days sometimes, not concerned that

I may have to suddenly get up and run

Feeling the rhythm of footsteps of friends

-- Who might never have time

for even one thought of finding a friend in this hell

of a world (we haven’t learned to actually share) --

I sense their fear

as they take their last breathless breath

Unless they are spared from death, this time

Which for some is felt

More as horror than relief

I sense their dread of having to

Keep on trying to survive

With no promise of real freedom --

or even a way to recognize peace

There are cries from every spot where

Someone has dwelt,

Even if only in that moment where

Something was taken, beaten, swollen, numbed, or simply

Not Loved, not seen as living

These are the cries that

Not one of us is spared

When Words are not enough and

Wounds are too deep,

Sometimes harming without consideration

Or accuracy

Sometimes cutting so clean and concise

That the lesion is barely visible

Barely bleeds, hidden

Neatly in its precision

The wound is nearly closed

But still infected

Suffocating those who try to

Inhabit and expand inside

The sickness

Who try to carry the

Heavy heart, like a hero carrying

Too much with too little strength,

Division of purpose, without clear vision

Across the finish line

The heart does not need

A victorious win, or even an end

But a way to start

using its voice

to send and convey,

Instead of only carrying Pain

These hearts that cry

Are calling like thunder calls

a storm to gather

and speak the truth

With noise not made of fear

But with threads of acknowledgment

We were taught to deny

By the ones who are still afraid

Who look to their God in the sky

When the tapestry being woven

Here, is the security we seek

Binding us together

Generations

Nations

Chains of Sisters and Brothers

That each time broken,

Into Freedom,

Each time even one bird

Is released,

or flees captivity --

Flight is a new song,

And also an ancient,

Familiar rhythm

That I recognized the first time

I flew away,

Fiercely and weakly,

Not really flying but tripping

Up North

So many years ago,

That it seems I was mostly a ghost

Just real enough to feel the broken

Fragments of the mirror I finally broke,

No longer able to hold it up

to the one who kept telling me not to leave

That I needed its reflection to keep me alive

But there was only breath enough for one,

Only Life enough to keep me from living

And dying in the body

I nearly had to abandon

Before I began to know

I, too, had been captive

Confined as a prisoner of a War

An invisible one, no less real in some ways

Than the ones we can see as bodies

Scattered, lifeless, waiting for Earth

to gather them back to her

I do not know that life

But I still find bits of hard earth

and death that surround the cell

I still sometimes seek within me

A familiar retreat where I learned

How to fear, and eventually

How to escape it with Madness

But I am not afraid today,

To join the chorus of pain

Combined into hurt that still suffers

But not alone,

No, dear sister and brother, and

All who have ever felt other

*Yes, pain has not escaped

But is united, embraced

By secure love, tried

Not used as a word

Words about love do not suffice

When the inside weeps

Dry tears, there is not

One Ointment

That can sooth or replace

Love that is not so much

An arrival,

But something that is

Always

Abiding, along the way

And then one day

You recognize it,

Allow it to be released

From its contract with shame,

And suffering, meant to protect

Your starving heart

Love can be loud when it needs to

Be heard, when it wants

To be quiet -- not quieted,

But Still at last,

to know its own voice

No longer fooled and falling

into pits of deceit

You keep mistaking for wells

Finding yourself consumed again

By that which will not fill

Or allow you to freely offer

Or receive the kind of love

You and each of us need

The security of a love

that carefully follows you,

Not forcing, but guiding

Until You are freed

From all the hiding you thought

You knew as safety

And you can see without a veil

Or a mask

Or armour

Or a wall of fear

Or a fountain of words

That Love is more than all of these

You will understand it

When you feel held while also

Holding another

--Mary Anne Stewart, January 29, 2017

*Italicized words in gray are not part of the actual poem, but part of my process in writing it.