Crazy Real

the official blog of author and poet Jennifer Wilson

Month: January 2020

War

There’s nothing left to say
it seems
and nothing left to do

There’s nothing left to dream
in dreams
yet nightmares spring anew

Where is the rescue
swift and sought
to purge my heart and mind

What nimble fingers
pluck the knots
and tangled threads unwind

For hope is but
a plaited cord
that binds these ready hands

Which, given freedom
would dispatch
this soul to other lands

No bird is that
within my breast
cajoling me to stay

But dragon with
a dragon’s breath
to melt my feet of clay

So bind this brain
and have it raised
aloft in yonder tree

Then set the curséd
thing ablaze
as tyrants ought to be

For with a plague
of ceaseless wars
its reign has ushered in

A darkest night
devoid of stars
which never has an end.

Balm

Is it any wonder
that the injured cry out
and the broken hearts
respond?

For what can wholeness say
to the fractured?
What fellowship
does giddiness share
with grief?

Is there yet a balm
in the universe
that can cover the wounds
of the dirty and lost
the self-seeking sinners
reaping the harvest
of flawed decisions
and debauched dreams?

The crushed and broken
lie lonely and scattered
upon the battlefield
begging for a word
of comfort
as the beautiful hurry past
averting their faces
embarrassed
by the spectacle
of shattered bodies
and the sound
of strangled
moans

So when anguish
seeks its own
and crawls on its elbows
to lay its head
in the lap of the dying
it is only because sympathy
is better
than judgement.

Prophesy

The fetal form
I held that day
Opened slit-mouth
I heard it say

“Take up this word
And prophesy
To every nation
By and by

For I was living
And now am dead
And so shall all
Whose feet do tread

This mortal sphere
Of ash and bone
We live together
We die alone

Listen to me
I never breathed
Nor saw the light
Nor you bereaved

And yet I know
That all things pass
The last be first
The first be last”

I lay the form
from my own womb
beneath the ground
so now entombed

Yet still the words
ring in my ears
though it has been
so many years

and heavy lays
the mantle now
I want to speak
I know not how

the fight has been
so full of pain
the comfort brief
the joy a strain

And faltering
has been my path
here in the grey
of aftermath

but still I hope
and yet I trust
in something more
I will; I must.

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