And yet, I can

Half of the bay is iced,
a line straight from shore to shore.

Rippling bright cold on that side.
Frozen still by me.

Last night’s clouds covered the full
moon trying to cleanse crystals

stargazing on my window seat.
The architect of my dreams

is always me. The plight awakening
my soul held for ransom

by these tiny trauma places
obstructing my energy flow.

Ducks dabble at the edge,
perhaps flirting with danger under

this new boundary. Heads pop
up in the ceaseless current.

I’m diving into my inner self
worth, seizing each block

curling my feet and clenching
my hands. Signals to my wise

now—heal me! Love me!
All this young reaching out

turned inward to comfort
a broken heart. You’re not

good enough my poisoned
talisman, intelligent protection.

You’re too much. Truth will not
be received well, not here.

Shut up and survive.
Clutch this imperative: you can’t.

Inspired by: Can, Architect, Plight and Ransom.

Just popped in at the halfway point to say, I miss you, fellow daily writers! The writing is flowing like music, thanks to Lisa Cron’s amazing book, Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science To Go Beyond Outlining And Write A Riveting Novel* [Before You Wasted Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere.] (It works! Yesterday my word count was 38,646 out of my goal of 50K by the end of November!)

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

5 thoughts on “And yet, I can”

  1. Write on Victoria. In the words of John Lennon
    “Words are flowing out
    Like endless rain into a paper cup
    They slither while they pass
    They slip away across the universe”

    Like

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