A Poem: "Here"

Here
By Jenna Reimer

Time is a soft sigh.
It is a quiet spoken breath,
Echoing than disappearing
With its resonance;
A hushed sigh - a silent silhouette.
It is a light dust that skims an undiscovered text
That embraces a powerful poem.
The Endless verses of written words
Suck the marrow from all that seems concrete.
The poet's voice becomes lost
Amongst a furry of illegible drafts
Where words shift and dance
Across infinite pages.
Pages that drift atop the breath
Of seamless, hollow sighs;
Sighs that die with every inhale
And exhale.

Face of a Fate

In the midst of a Chinook wind,
A dire reminder of a Northern January,
A gentleman strolls
down an exhausted street.
Drawing his cold hands
To his bristled head,
Combing the brittle hair
Through wheat thin fingers,
He then stops.
Glancing at clod on the sidewalk,
Appearing to be his unshed tears,
He takes a deep, veiled breath.
Keeping his distance from a place
Where all is too real, too human;
A land that assigns morality
By his own position in dreary time.
Once again, staring ahead down the road
The concrete softens with the heather sky.
Walking this clotted road
Whose cracks and wrinkles
Resembles the hope of his firmament
Makes him forget,
So he continues.

That Night of Time, Beneath Breath of Wind

My vision rapt by a calm presence;
a truth so untouched and clear
has unearthed a weakened essence
far removed from this body of fear.
Night has casts her blackened shawl;
all begins to take shape of a form
so unfamiliar and dull.
Sorrow wept through vicious storm;
clouds cursed with a thunder
that shakes a sleeper’s eye.
The screams of weathers wrath
eats my will in dire time.
Such hardened rain pounds my door.
Strikes of lightening damn the skies,
softening a grip I held before,
all lost in angry battle outside.
Have I found a lucid kind
during a raging wretched gust?
A refuge born by heavens rage;
a squall in which appeals my trust.
My truth; naked in sweat of fear
in a defiant second birth.
An absence of love held so dear
was revealed by an angered earth.
It was that night of tranquil time
beneath a haven; breath of wind.
An undoing of my mind
had spoke only by way of storm.

The Breath

The breeze comes and reunites us all,
singing alone, giving rise to all of our songs;
The songs being the law of vivid life-
It is our very essence,
an essence which holds our substance,
advancing while detaching in night and day,
in man and beast.

Here is where silence becomes it’s own unwinding-
Transitioning into a wholeness
where words become fruitless,
where our eyes become our words,
where to speak is to die then to not speak; a movement
into a truer human form.

Everything in birth and death-
awareness, oneness, clarity, stillness,
become a blended existence amongst us all
where vibrant beauty is understood,
not through language,
but sensed in a shared breath.

Where the eyes give the lucid quality to glass,
breath in breath,
the essence, in essence itself.

In Nature of Being

So to be here is to end a soundless weeping?
To silence the drift of autumn leaves and whispers of wheat fields
is to call, over and over to a listless world
and beckon the fallen petals and remain; motionless.
Transitioning from a time near, in a world of surmise,
to a time present in times potential
is to remain a constant possibility within this speculation.

Breath of summer breeze speaks of a weakening power,
a memory meaningless to times inability to contain our own time.
It seems, with age, a deterioration of a soul no longer becomes bitter
but a fruition with a ineffable joy, absent of any primitive fear.
What was once many loves beating in ones heart,
sleepless hearings of an intelligent memory,
is now a passage to the dwelling of that heart.

To the poet, he wrote, words mark but a moment of this mind,
Lost amongst the mourning who breathe merely that moment’s sudden fury.
For the past is a current destroyer of the presents history,
recovered by it’s own agony, unqualified to be a mere monument.
To the poet, it is in the ink, and the paper, and the hand that hint-
hint at the defeated actions and otherwise movement
to achieve happiness through right action.

It is to be here, now; resistant to past or future, existence in spheres,
whether submissive and alone or unwilling and naked,
one must forget trying, and leave the continual sustenance
to the life of momentous earth.