Poetry: #93 Oh Summer Bones, Why Do You Hate Me So? (Used 1)
A selection from a personal collection: Used
Introduction to Used
I’ve mentioned this collection several times in the last year. It is one of my favorite collections because it runs through the various styles of poetry I explored and enjoyed up to the point of writing it in 2016. In the coming months you’ll get a glimpse into who I was, how I thought, how I processed, and how I lived through the biggest trough in my life up to that point. I will not be doing “My Thoughts” sections for this collection as my thoughts are already there. The narrator is me, and these are my thoughts starting the first week of July and running through the end of 2016.
I debated reading these again. Then, I debated sharing these as part of Written Works and, honestly, as much as I look at these poems as part of my history, I know I can still learn something about myself by going through them again. Enough time has passed by that I believe I can see them for the beautiful and haunting poetry they are and not just my experience. But, why share something so personal and so dark? The answer is simple: I’m still here. I experienced every single thing in this collection and I’m alive and a better person because of it all. I don’t look back in envy, desire, hatred, pain, anguish…no, I look back at how far I’ve come and how much I’ve learned since writing these poems.
As this collection unfolds each week, I want you, dear reader or listener, to understand that no matter what you’re going through, what you’ve been through, there is an end—there is light at the end of the tunnel. Letting go of the past is only possible if you live in the present. Make the past history, learn what you can about yourself, at whatever pace is comfortable, and I promise your present will take you to a brighter future.
Oh Summer Bones, Why Do You Hate Me So?
Can you tell me how you feel? Do you feel used? Were you betrayed? Oh the silence, creeping up. The weight bearing, Right down on me. The fire, crackles Is there any more desire? Is it all gone? The icy wind The haunting black A storm tonight A fight for life… And at the center of my soul I hear the sound of the crow. The only black bird I knew who watched me since I was a child. It knew my every lie, my every move, my desires. The least of the animals I like and I am beside myself with joy to know he understands me. To see that he feels for me. He longs to show me the way. The passage to a watch bird’s trials. I am not one to be a part of such an act. I will not bow to the whim of my heart and mind and I will pursue with the determination of a suborn boar protecting its offspring. I will not die. I have grown lazy, far too attached to my life as it was; letting the world pass me by in my own little slice of paradise. How foolish I was, to think that I could be loved. That there was someone to whom I could tell my story to… The crow believes my words and the crow beckons me to follow him. I still say no. The Summer Bones beside me leapt at the spring before them and flew off to the skies without a second thought as to what they had left behind. My angel used her wings, how dare she do something so innocent. My life, taken before the crows very eyes and still he sits motionless except for when he beckons. I will not fall, I grow in the garden and just because my previous seeds didn’t grow as strong as they wanted or ought to have been I know in my heart that there is still time. That there is hope—hope, such an ugly word. Hope, the thing we cling to when we know there isn’t much of a reason to believe. Hope, the thing we cling to when we know we have already lost. It can save us, and God with his infinite grace can make a fool out of any of us, but until that day comes hope…Hope should only be placed in Him. The crow turns his head to check that I have not left him. That he need not move from his perch by my window sill. I indulge that bird by sliding the window and pressing my hand to the screen that resides between us. A fine mesh, a small insignificant barrier that neither of us has any desire to cross, even though we could… Time slips and the Summer Bones are gone, replaced with empty words and fingers crossed. Depression slips in, anger builds and denial came to my lips at first. I try bargaining and anger and bargain and no avail the crow cackles inside, I can tell. My life, my dreams fade to the pitch of black that the feathers of the bird grew…I am still not lost, but I am losing hope. That one treacherous word that has brought me to this point, this crossroad. My hope that all my fears and doubts were wrong, that every time I sing my songs I would have a friend to listen, I long. I long for a regret I can barely accept, I have never wanted something so much I cannot understand it. I always accept the past, look to it for advice, and now I want it back, I want to fly my own path and not show another which direction they need to go. I would give everything, my destiny to be with the eagle as she finds her home. I would suffer a thousand deaths to see her smile. Oh how alone, I have pain alone. I cannot atone for any language spoke, but it haunts me to know that language of another has impacted my decisions so much. And not just the one I thought had fire but a poet with humble words abound. I sit listening to the songs, the lyrics, the breaths of every tone, every moan, what was our home. I sit here, trying to get up. I fall and, I know he watches The black bird, the painless giver I can see, and shiver The crow stands, and marches I blush I, stand up and fight… God only knows the battles I go through, the hate I feel when I am stuck wondering how I could be better. He alone can tell how much pain and suffering and shame I am in. How much I can stand. To the ends I will go to meet my end. And he gives me hope, yes, that word I cannot fathom. The term that brings utter chaos to my life, to everyone here on Earth. Desire for a better world, a better place to raise a child. I wanted one, a kid of my own. I didn’t have the name but I could see him as he would grow. I picture his features and half of mine were sown. Together we would be, never alone. The thought would hurt me; the thought of watching him go would cause pain to my bones. The Summer Bones, Oh why do you hate me so? You could have had the world. We could have had the world. Changing it making it great but… Now we are both alone No more touching feeling bones The want for another’s embrace Holding our hearts and minds it makes Me tear from the inside and tear on the outside And all I can see is your actions And they make is seem like fiction The world that I grew to know It kills me as I watch and I moan Oh Summer Bones, Why do you hate me so?
What are your thoughts on this poem?
I hear another poem is coming every Saturday!