Metamorphosis

 

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Metamorphosis by tamaya garner ©

 

 

 

awake,,,,
am I awake,,,
notes drifting in low,, so,,, low
from the forest floor
s l i t h e r i n g over logs
dead from time pasted

there is something else
something,,, something like that sound of static
somewhere in the background,,,

so still the cellos notes float by 
oblivious, resistant, indifferent
to who they pass or why
they float on by

the skin on my feet have thicken
more than days or months, I faintly remember,,,,, did the notes first come
like memories surviving within the horsehair threads
every note played response to intuition
only through music do they emerge
like whispers floating in the air

I walk blind to the morning sun and the night’s moon
walking on soft decaying leaves
protects me from sharp twigs
I walk following the notes

static now turns into tapping
tapping like a finger on a window pane
attempting to draw attention without startling
tapping,,, tapping,, tapping

I raise my face to the sky attempting
to breath in fresh life, new thoughts

waterfalls gently upon my face
pooling in the pockets of my eyes
my mouth opens to release the spirits within
as I open my eyes the water floods in
like a tsunami wave

I now see the treetops
but they are underwater
birds have turned into fish
the sky is now the ocean
have I changed?
was I  larvae now metamorphosing
into,,, into,, what?
the notes I have been following are still here
only I am not following
as much as breathing them all in
they seem to be everywhere
or I am now, them
have I become the notes
that I once followed
was the cello my beacon?

now I breathe in
the life that surrounds me
I move effortlessly
with just a thought
static is now no more
for I walk on the ocean floor

january 29 2018

 

Inspired by the music of
Jesse Ahmann Cellist
‘cello with rain on a tin roof’

 

 

 

One Year Of Blog

Today I finished editing my poems from Dear Diary. It is the first edit and I removed 30 pages. Re-reading over 90 pages has been exhausting. Nearly every poem brought me back to its origin of thought. Re-living those days effects you I just don’t quite know how it will end. 

As the weeks come and go I find myself further and further away from the open wounds. I also find myself in the middle of a tall forest and wondering what to do next. Since Newfoundland I have wanted to sleep, more then usual 🙂 which is a lot.  Nothing left to say on this one year day.