To Chant As I Go
A poem of remembrance
You are not lost,
Though your flesh is buried deep
In coffins sunk in unmarked graves
Beneath the dawn’s dew-dampened earth,
Tucked far within a cool and misty
Wood. So far away that no soul standing
Above the soil, or yours asleep below,
Can hear the toll of church bells ringing,
Singing their welcome of the morn’.
No, you are not lost.
When I study the lines ,
Those kudzu vines creeping
Up the lattice of skin that
Lines the wall of my palm,
You cling to me. In my dreams,
My incorporeal being walks
Along paths carved so clearly through
The wilds of my mind;
The stones laid are my memories
Of you. Your stories burn, my guideposts
Shining brighter than the morning star.
You are not lost; I am
Sometimes. I often feel I have been
Set adrift in a sea of voices
Unfamiliar, voices that are not
My own, and can barely keep my
Head above the surface.
When I start to drown I try to sound
Your form into the physical,
Pulling you inward from the abyss,
A buoy to hold close, clutching you
To my chest. I often hum the melody
You taught me in my dreams
Rocking myself to sleep,
A baby embraced by the music
Of your arms.
There I am soothed, and find
Myself at peace, because
You are not lost.
About the Creator
Alexis is a poet, essayist, observer, poor philosopher, and Jack-of-all-trades that is better than a master of none. She lives in Philadelphia and hopes that her words will inspire reflection that leads to a life of action.
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