Here is a little poem I chewed out, to help me clear my mind.
It just rattles out, like regurgitating my struggle. I wouldn't know if the poetry is any good. To me the imagery helps me feel my loss and the power of my feelings.
Fallen past the angels once regarded friends
to the sky blue as inner flame
back to the world once known and loved
to the land, the shores,
and the homes of the men, women and children,
and to the schools, and institutions to which
we now cling, now changed.
Running from nature into realms of protection
hiding from the angels except within hope.
And yet for what is within me remembered,
knowing everything for what it was
and nothing about the darkest secrets in the breast.
As a child, floating up, to sit with the angels,
above the sky, in white and yellow,
amongst the aged trees and wild surf, and warm wind,
and the touch of love,
silent, knowing, life spirit.
Fallen can't be so bad, if I can seek the same,
the past and the future,
avoiding knowing just how dark we are, I can be.
The little bit that I hold onto,
the little bit that shines anew,
likely not enough for long,
I do not glow or shine,
mine is not a radiance, but a glimmer,
and may not be enough to light my way,
back to the angles and the warm light,
the glowing of life in my breast,
and the friends I once shared in nature.