Buried – A Poem

 

Buried

It was buried
so far down
that
over the years
she nearly forgot
it was there.

She would never speak
to anyone
about it.
Even to her sister
who slept
in the next bed
it was a secret.
Never being brought up
during the shadowed
conversations
they would share
in their room
lasting long into the winter nights.

Covering it with the
finest fabrics
her mother had bought
she carried it out
far into the woods
and digging a hole
she planted
it
deeply
into herself.

And so the years
past
until one day it came
alive
as a fierce and sudden fire
that she could no longer
hide.
She glowed so
that the people asked
if she were in love
or expecting.

But she would dismiss them
with a look
of terror and beauty
they could not
understand.

Slinking away
the people
took
to speaking
silently
about her
amongst themselves
behind closed doors
and in restaurants
seated at booths far
from the entrance
eating chef salads
and drinking
cups
of sweet coffee.

However
the fire that was started
continued
to intensify
and her attempts
to ignore
to suppress
or to cover
it
would not work.

It came so that
the clothes
she wore
became illuminated
relics
and her skin
brilliantly radiating
like a bright
newborn
star
a light so pure that even
the morning rays
of the blood-red sun
envied
and
could not diminish.

It and
she
became indistinguishable
and when
in its fire
she felt no more
fear
they
became one.

Many of the people
the poor and sick
the women
and the children
the suffering
and abused
found solace
in her
comfort
a beacon of
hope
and healing
for their many wounds.

But there were men
who feared her.
Feared the tidal change
beaming
horror
and grace
from her gaze
and conspiring
killed her
stabbing her with a long
spear
so that the fire
bled out as a
golden
liquid light
that flooded the land
and sunk
down
into the earth
to be trampled on
and forgotten
as her body burned
to ash
and was blown
away.

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8 thoughts on “Buried – A Poem

    • Thank you! It did turn out sad, though that wasn’t my initial intent. At least not consciously at the beginning, but there was something during and in the whole of its composition that called for it to be a tragedy.

  1. Very powerful piece weaving the complexity of pain, empowerment, rebirth and death. This spirit I suspect like the Phoenix will return again. Life teaches us all over and over.

    Again on this one I wanted “in their room” removed from:
    conversations
    they would share
    in their room
    lasting long into the winter nights.
    (subconsciously I must not want to be confined.Since I keep editing your poetry removing “the room”. Hehe)

    • Thank you. Yes, I suppose it could be likened to the Phoenix. I like the “in their room” as it reinforced the closeness and intimacy with her sister. But again, the two sharing a bedroom is referenced just above where I wrote “in the next bed.” So you have given me something to think on once more. Thank you again, very much, for all of you comments and suggestions. They truly mean a lot.

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