Most of you will never know what it’s like to hold a conversation within art. It’s beautiful. I wrote this in response to a poem titled “Because I Lied, You Bled,” which was left in my notebook for me to stumble upon.
Because I Lied, You Bled: Talking Back to You
My dreamscape exists
in a pale purple dusk
just as moon rises
over tragedies of yellow-amber sorrows.
It lingers
where lilacs lament the dead –
those sweet Northeastern flowers
possessing summer powers
of songs cast with
tales on unrequited love.
Lilacs are scented with
sorrows of soul’s empty seeking
& they do heal
when fermented with ink of poets
as poets are visionaries,
cursed with seeing their own misfortunes
& misguided moonlit marauding.
Trust of lilacs,
but heed,
as there lies within fields
one orchid hiding beneath.
Its once white petals
bloodied,
bruised.
Orchid did sway when winds blew
& edges appeared
but it held on,
fearless,
forcing hearts
both
to fail
for a fraction of a muted minute.
Your strength lies in sublimity
kindest of all.
My truth,
like yours,
is petrifying.
And I don’t want to struggle alone
Nor do I want you to.
Alas kindred traveler,
we are poets.
Struggling is poetry
& poetry is molded
out of lucid dreams
coated with cunning visions of nightmares past.
My present is not how you see it.
Kaleidoscope colors are
merely reflection
of dreams yet attained.
Be not blinded by blinking shimmer of my yesterday.
Be only as you are
like I am
letter by letter,
building with intensity of lilacs
an open road
of radiant realities
yet realized.
Copyright © Ellen Garrity 2004
Wicked Sarcastic 