Tears

Sometimes when brightest day appears like darkest night,
and though you try, you can’t perceive the brightness of the light;
when rain paints window panes, yet fields and streets are dry,
and grief conceals the kindly shine in every eye,
you may smile to hide the brackish corners of your mind
but truth is there, that all who care for you may find.

Yet still you smile ’til you believe your cheer is real,
in self-deceit your mind will cheat, and not reveal
the hurt you hide behind the thick facade,
as laughing, you wrap blankets round each glassy shard.
And so, from day to day you live your life this way,
to flee the debt of pain you fear you cannot pay.

Your head feels heavy when you wake and rise from bed,
and as you dress, your arms and legs feel numb and dead,
yet still, you laugh as if your heart was light as air,
as if your life was bright with ne’er a care,
and still the ache lies hidden somewhere deep within,
in some secret, unseen place beneath the skin.

Then suddenly, a friend unseen may intuit the key,
and in creative act of generosity,
unlock the door that frees warm healing tears,
releasing all the memories of hurt and fears.
And so you weep, in gratitude and pain,
until it all escapes, and you are real again.

And thus, by meditation’s gentle act,
You flee from fantasy, and turn to fact.
You balance all the good and bad, and weigh it up
in honesty, and find the liquid in your cup
is mixed, ‘twixt sweet relief and  bitter pall;
with seasoned palate, you can sup it all.

No need to hide from daily pain and rising strife –
The beauty of the gifts you’ve gained, sustains your life.

I haven’t been deeply depressed, as this poem suggests, but I have been submerging emotion. My rhyme was inspired by the thoughtful act of my intuitive FanStory friend, Judester, who yesterday published  a post which  took me for a virtual walk around her estate. The beauty of the surroundings made my spine tingle. I felt as if I was walking through a forest, and it was my home. Everything was designed and built in the way I would have wished, using recycled and freely aquired materials.  When I read the note beneath her post it said “I dedicate this story to Sanejane. Just a happy little story“. Sanejane is my FanStory name, and to me it was far more than just a little story; it was deep meditation.  On reading the dedication, I wept, at last setting free all the unshed tears for the attack on my daughter.

©Jane Paterson Basil

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