Below is the poem entitled Cavernous which was written by poet
William J. Jr.
Atfield. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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William J. Jr.
William J. Jr. Atfield
I do not believe !, nor do I want to believe
that the delineations you pain upon the canvass’
of our, oh so brief time upon this plane together
represents the true you, the real you, the spiritual soul of you.
I wanted, so much for you to stand by me,
so much for you – upon this earth – to stand with me,
to walk with me upon the raging waters of this sea,
this life of ours, to be with me in calming these waters
these storms, storms drowning emotions, feelings, desires,
sending them into the depths, into Davie Jones’s locker.
Down, down, down to the bottom – of our hearts, our souls.
Me - my spirit has slipped into the mouth of this great Cave,
the caves within – deep, dark, dangerous, opened mouth –
where a Carcharondon Carchanis, an Orcinus Orca, awaits,
it’s stalactites downward force, piercing the upper regions
of my heart, causing great geysers of blood to fly,
it’s stalagmite stilettos, thrusting upwards
into the lower, nether regions of my bleeding heart,
piercing every fiber, every beat that vibrates to the songs
that love’s composers lay at the feet of us hopeless romantics,
songs that have become deafeningly silent to these old ears and the light of their sounds, penetrates not these old eyes
as life’s blood, drips in vain, like tear drops through a vein’s
aneurism – the wounds inflicted by these predators,
wounds ripped into the living flesh of a stilled, beating heart
as it tries to navigate a coarse between Black Shadows,
between the teeth ( stalagmites, stalactites ) of this Cavern,
I have chosen to explore – once more - for Life’s, sake.
The deeper I travelled into the interior of this Cave,
The more I realized, my feeling became even more grave.
The question became, how do I avoid the sting, the bite, stave off the inevitable, – never to love / be loved – to the grave
with all I shared, all I desired, all that I gave !
From the mists of uncertainty, from the fogs of doubts
come numerous ( hundreds ?, ) pages of enlightenment
( for the blind and the blinded ) that project, that question,
that are, even, living statements.
B. J. “A” 2
January 30th 2009