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waking up
to an old pattern
of thoughts
spun over the mind
like a cobweb
catching every suggestion of luminosity
before it is able
to reach the soul
is dreadful
though in the repetition
of gloom
there is also a repetitive invitation
to open op
and change
learning to take care
of ourselves
can for some be
a long way out of pain
though as long as we are not able
to care for ourselves
we are not truly able
to care for anybody else
every miscarriage has
a certain amount of grief
to be grieved
denial only leaves
a disproportionate sense
of barrenness
braiding long forgotten dreams
into a string of memories
holding together
the chaos of disappointments
by one single thread
bridging the past
to the future
in a thin line
to be walked
when shame is ennobled
glory expands
and out of darkness emerge
a light
all the more ardent
that subtle
to release
rigid convictions
unconscious beliefs
and poor boundaries
by
the catharsis of muddled emotions
through talent
hungry ghosts
howling through the night
on winds of criticism
and loose ends aright
ensuring
that nothing peaceful is to settle
in the mind
yet even the darkest of nights
is followed by
the break of light
when the discernment
no longer discerns
but subjects
what was a path of emancipation
becomes a tool of torture
an ever-changing landscape
of
endless nuances of grey
with its own kind of
clarity
that love is our essence
does not mean
our behaviour is either loving
nor lovable
no matter how talented we have become
in justifying
the very same behaviour
to ourselves