My Heart Holds It All – A Poem.

by Aly Hazlewood on November 1, 2016

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My heart holds it all

My heart holds the murky depths of loss, hopes dashed against rocks, with the tenacious knowing that it will readily risk it all again for love’s promise.

Love turned to salty water, tears I cry to heal myself, are chased by easy laughter that trills from my throat at a prized friend’s joke.

My heart contracts in clenched, sour victimhood as hard-won wisdom, earned in the throes of battle is momentarily veiled by reptilian response.

Hidden behind dark clouds of spiralling descent, my heart is suddenly revealed by a Westerly wind, blinking in the rays of clear-seeing vision.

My heart, the very spaciousness of love, is light and bright and free. Hot on its heels, a narrow fear closes in wolf-like, pitiless, tracking its prey.

A bleak and heavy sadness pinned my heart to the bed today. Later still, a silent wonderment surfaced while walking bone-cold over heather cloaked peaks.

My heart fears the penetrating vulnerability of going it alone. But more true is its tensile strength, borne of knowing that I can, because I have, many times before.

My heart weeps to see its darkest shadows reflected in the eyes of a beloved. It knows that I am so much greater than my frozen, orphaned self, hidden behind granite castle walls.

Gifted with an ancient, second sight of intuition, my heart is inexplicably compelled once more to turn a blind eye to its gift, only to flog a bleeding, broken horse.

My heart so weary and bruised, commits over and over to rupture and repair, rupture and repair, its silver scars singing timeworn stories of love and loss.

Overcome with tenderness for the holy face of this sleeping child, my heart holds too a great sorrow borne of my silent, barren womb.

My heart so keenly feels the absence of its beloved, who, like a raging body of water, carved a cavern in my chest. This gift, a precious subterrane, to be filled with my own sweet love.

Adrift in an inky blue sea of confusion, my heart recalls forms that appeared through the fog of journey’s past. Once again I trust they will appear, hazy at first, then lucid, bright.

My heart is driven by a fervour to look deep into dark spaces where others will not. As dawn breaks, it is humbled by revelations of illusions, viewed through filters not of my own making.

Yearning for its spoken words to be understood, felt, my heart suspects that true intimacy arises in the silent moments of presence between words.

My heart whispers that the time has come to wean off the teat of fairytale romance, gift wrapped and ribbon tied. Still, it grieves the loss of the story-book Prince, the happy-ever-after.

Craving too much, wanting it all, my heart has known the peace of acceptance and concession. Yet the gaping hungry ghost tugs tirelessly at threads I cannot seem to sever.

My heart has tasted exquisite freedom from the binds of expectation. Still at times, it appears to prefer prison walls of my own making.

Sovereign, free, rejecting all forms of coercion or control, my heart still forgets that the hearts of others are one and the same.

My heart is pure, innocent, with childlike wonder. And dank, dark corners that recoil from the light.

Hoping a mind can be changed, my heart leaves all the doors open. Eventually, it sits bewildered on the banks by the horse dragged to water, still refusing to drink.

My heart has witnessed Death arriving unannounced to steal our last breath. Why, then, does this heart grind the axe of reproof, ingest poisonous reproach?

Seeing the contrast between knowing the path and walking the path, my heart still stumbles and blunders between the two.

Though wild, untamable, unsocialized, my heart’s I.Q is immeasurable by any known standard, intelligent by divine design. This heart can, and does, hold every discordance, every harmony. My heart holds it all.

 

 

Copyright – Aly Hazlewood. 2016

 

 

 

 

 

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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Kelly November 2, 2016 at 6:14 pm

Brave to share this. Poetry can feel like I’m exposing myself too open, yet I love it when others share in this way. I had several moments of ‘ouch’ reading this. Resonated deeply.

Thank you, looking forward to more.

Corey November 7, 2016 at 12:59 pm

I normally don’t read posts quite this long, lol (attention span issues), but I loved your poem. Authentic and raw.

Sam July 7, 2017 at 8:12 am

Mmm thank you for sharing. Brave and beautiful. Inspired me to pick up a pen again.

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