Thread: Old Voice

By definition,
a soul never dies.

I want to reclaim
what I used to write
back in wounded times.

The blue have no critics;
neither stones nor sticks
can make any impression
on their numb flesh.

Words come as guests, unannounced
but ached for like cigarettes
offered a surprised cancer patient;
hastening death yet a gift overflowing
with the spirit of friendship.

There is tranquility in trauma,
a zen pessimism where misery
is a reliable certainty
and honesty flows naturally,
because there is no chance
to reflect on a missed step,
no safe place to practice lying
with a straight face and definitely
no opportunities to save face.

I hate the fact I want it back
and owe a debt to ugliness.

But to feel passion, rhythms, raving mad,
hurt and healed by a soothing rhyme;

I want to reclaim
what I used to write,
but not the wounded times.

hi edgewise,
The title “Old Voice,” is perfect. This poem is perfect, and it speaks volumes. Thanks for sharing this awesome poem with us. I love this stanza: "I want to reclaim what I used to write, but not the wounded times." I enjoyed reading this poem.

Yes, that was my favorite stanza as well. I have no criticisms: it's a great piece.

Great ending Edge, I enjoyed the whole thing, but that final stanza brought it home well.

There is tranquility in trauma,
a zen pessimism where misery
is a reliable certainty
and honesty flows naturally,
because there is no chance
to reflect on a missed step,
no safe place to practice lying
with a straight face and definitely
no opportunities to save face.

Awesome. The flow is incredible.
You've perfectly put into words what I've always felt... and which has always been true to me. I've always created my best work (not only writing, but arts aswell) in troubled times. Because only then can you really put it all on the table and have nothing to loose.

Hell yah man, great stuff.

Hello Edge,
So far I have enjoyed every poem of yours that I have read. This is no exception. Thank you for the delightful material.

Much appreciated, All.

I like how the "story" or narrative flow of this poem circles around sort of gradually, picks up speed and momentum, and then the invincible finality of those last five lines: Boom, boom, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!! Like a wave crashing on the beach.

You have to go back and read the beginning again to really enjoy it properly, and like with a lot of my favorite poems you can do that--read slowly to the end, then start back at the beginning, read to the end again. It seems to pick up meaning with each new reading, too. Nice work!