Meditating on a few words

Writing poetry can sometimes be a form of release, and other times it can simply be a practice of meditation. I say meditation because so many people have suggested that I learn and when I work on my writing I notice that my thoughts are in the center of my mind, exactly where they are supposed to be while meditating. When I write, the world loses its grasp on me and I temporarily move into the ether—finding my path as it is laid before me by the Muses. As I begin to write, the words before me create emotions that I did not always know were there, and when true metamorphosis occurs, they become full sentiments carrying with them the ability to speak to people without ever needing to know who I am. I wish that I had the skills to create such full metamorphoses and watch, as Pygmalion did, my art and love come to life and be my partner for future creations. For this reason, I have begun to set aside time to practice meditation, as suggested, and to write on a more regular basis. Only with practice will my skill grow, and only with humble mastery will I ever achieve the quality of writing that is able to live and breath on its own.

Here is poem that I wrote a little over a year ago, and have just now come back to it. I wrote it late in the night, alone, and trying to find a place of solitude and comfort in my head. I struggle with the title, and perhaps a few lines, but more or less, I feel very strongly about this one.


Without

I am writing in third person
because I have forgotten myself.

She walks along the shoreline,
the moon in full orb,
swelling her body into a natural pool.

Sometimes I cannot remember
what was a dream and what was real.

Alone on the beach
she watches the night Jasmine bloom,
the fragrance reminds her
of a perfume she once wore.

I lie awake at night dreaming;
my reality lost, my body numb,
senseless and aware of the whole room,
naked and cold.