Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion

The Well

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20190411_124542 (1)

The Well

I am the well, beyond
Baseline, sparkling chasms
Encapsulated in teardrops
Fragmented rainbows that speak
On reflections of you
Heart split, chambers imprisoned
Beat, as one, no more
Hopes, cast away
In cherry-blossom-dancing sky
A brilliant blue, against
The blue of us
Pronounced missing
Such all-encompassing rigid agony
That centers bow at soul’s home
And with penetration, reminds: life
The living, the journey, the road
Leading back, onto what finds
Me, this charismatic pang
Dressed in cashmere softness
Pink again, as if promising
For resting place, of comfort gone
With echoes of when
Sings thee, a voice like rose-tinted silence
The knowing that existence is
Yet, still sleeps in growing light
Stretching vines, and forgetting beams
Not beneath, nor beyond
But in this one, who stands ravished
In deafening woe, highlighting self
With a fragrance, unknown
Some shimmering tastiness
Without taste, a tongue reaching to glimpse
If had eyes, to bleed out
This endless game named ache
In the substance of lost, I am
This that is forced surrender
Be that it may, carved
Inch, by breaking inch
Very made in light
Called upon, shattered
The dove wings circle
Enveloping rest, they whisper
Feel the wholeness of sacrifice
The glorious, intensified rupture
Birthing, new skin
Scales of stories in ebony caves
Crimson strokes rewind
The past, tale spinning tale
A comment set upon itself
The well below, existence
A deep reservoir for thy drinking

Samantha Craft, 5.24.19

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