Private Healing
I stitched my Wounds in borrowed Dark —
Where comment cannot pry —
The Noise of mouths was everywhere,
Yet Silence endured I —
From serious Pain — the Chronic kind
That teaches Breath to hide —
I fled the marketplace of words
Where weary meanings died —
The Chatter spent me poor of strength,
Each syllable a tax —
I learned to leave with empty hands
And fewer looking back —
Terrified of the self that feeds
On mirrors, not on Truth —
I guard the gates of my own Pulse
With almost holy Ruth —
So quick the Tongue is now to pause —
A practiced, sacred brake —
For speech once loosed cannot return
What careful quiets make —
My Ears remain — wide-open Fields —
My Eyes — an unslept Sea —
I watch the world without a claim
That it must answer me —
And privately, the Healing grows
Like roots that work at Night —
No witness but the tender Dark,
No proof — except the Light.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
