A poem from Becoming

[Anelior]

eHey guys,
I'm net to this forum, this section seems like a very good place to share writing.  This poem is from a book I've published, thought I'd share it to get some feedback (and free advertising! lol).

It's called "Despair":


There is no hope -

I am an empty vessel,

My sails are torn and tattered,

My oars have been lost in the water

Far behind.


The wood is cracked all about me,

And slowly the water is filling in;

I am sinking

Deeper, deeper

Into a sea of despair.

Battered by defeat,

I see no reason to stay afloat.

I have seen the calm beneath,

Where things float by

Peacefully,

And the storm cannot reach me;

Where the sun is a phantom light.

So quiet down there;

Why not go?

For there, time forgets me,

And the unseen things of this world

Will build upon me

A monument of a former time now forgotten.

What am I but a ship,

Alone,

Floating without direction,

Just one of many in an endless sea,

Doomed to sink like the others.

Why should I hope

To come to the land I seek

When there is no wind,

And my entirety is falling apart?

But I cannot forget the crafter

Who built the boat

With care for every detail,

Who set me upon the water

When I left his dock.

I cannot remember his parting words,

For I was asleep when I left;

And then I awoke on the sea

Far away.

I had only the birds to guide me,

And only the rare islands of happiness

In the sea of sorrow

Brought me sustenance,

That I might go on

Further

To where I am led.

Yet with each day,

I see the sun over the water,

And far off,

I know there is land.

Not just an island with limits,

Which will sustain me only for a time,

But which will sustain me endlessly,

For all time,

In ways which I can only dream of.

In the darkness

When the water pours in,

I think to sink myself

In the dolorous depths;

But then morning comes,

And I cannot believe how foolish I was:

For the sunrise

Is so beautiful

That hope returns from its hibernation

And walks inside me again.

How strange indeed

That at times the dark can be so thick,

So great

That the sun is forgotten.

I must remember,

That a storm has but a season,

But the sun ever burns;

My spirit never sleeps,

Even when the soul weeps.

[Selski]

Hi Anelior

That's possibly the best poem I've ever read.  Seriously.

It reads as if it is written solely for me, which is the mark of a great poet (in my opinion).

Thank you for sharing your beautiful words.

Sarah

[Selski]

PS  I also love your tagline.  

(Edit - and your art...)

Sarah

[Anelior]

Hi Sarah,

Why I thank you for that comment!  It is a great help to have my intuition about the work confirmed: that is speaks to people.

It is a selection from my book, Becoming, which is very much a channeled work, i.e. I felt like I was being "told" what to write by a distant part of my mind as I wrote it.  I have since learned about my role as a channeler, and the natural cycle that comes and goes.  Becoming is an example of something written by the "higher self".  I was reluctant to pursue publication because I thought it was just poetry...then, with the encouragement of many who read it and were moved (one woman, twice my age, was in tears!), I have taken the step to market it.

Perhaps I can share some more of the selections?  Let me know if you would like this.  

Thanks for the compliments on the art too!  It is my own simple style, I'm not an artist at all!  Just some doodling with pencil crayons - I guess it suffices for now!

-Graeme

[Selski]

Perhaps I can share some more of the selections?  Let me know if you would like this.  

Yes please.

Thanks for the compliments on the art too!  It is my own simple style, I'm not an artist at all!  Just some doodling with pencil crayons - I guess it suffices for now!

I doodle with pencils too - I find it relaxing and absorbing, and sometimes I'm amazed at what comes out on the paper!

Sarah

[Anelior]

Hi Sarah,
Sorry about taking so long.  I did put a post up with another poem, however for some reason its not here.  Maybe I didn't post it properly.  Anyway, here it is.  This one is called "memory".  Enjoy!  It also is from Becoming.

MEMORY

Sweet memory,
You are like a hidden valley,
Flowing with a secret river,
Filled with looming trees
In the dark twilight of recollection.
Deep within me, a place only I know of,
My very life courses by
And comes upon you,
Nearly forgotten of
In the quick, ceaseless current of living.
But when I am quiet,
Contemplatively cognitive,
I float by
And see the sweet things you provide;
Once I strayed into your shelter
And planted seeds;
Now look how they have grown!
For if once your valley was empty,
Now it grows,
As I have grown,
And here once again,
I see new lushness.
I have passed you by,
And left you behind;
But you see:
I am a wanderer,
And when I pull my raft to shore,
I stray back over the hills
To you,
My sweet memory.
Often I will sit by,
Under the many boughs hiding you,
Swaying in the breathing wind.
And sometimes,
I see upon the branches
The precious fruits;
They are delightful,
A dreamful dallop;
Though they do not sustain,
They nourish the mind
And feed the longing
Of the weary wanderer.
Oh my sweet memory,
If I am to go by
Every day of my life,
Passing your many places;
If I am to speed down my destiny
Without stopping,
Then I would be like a wraith:
Empty of joy,
Empty of self,
For it is your valleys
To which I shall go
And rest my soul
When the river flows into the pool
And my raft is tied to the dock.