It so happens I am on the last page of my journal,
it seems like new year's eve.
This journal is the longest I have taken to fill in the past 10 years.
There was a three month gap,
for some reason unknown to me,
of no words.
Then suddenly -
an entry summarizing those lost three months,
in fleeting descriptive wording & imagery.
Nothing more to add.
It took me 14 months to fill a book, with lined pages,
which is unlike me.
And, as unlike me as it was,
I chose to abide by the lines,
And I stayed within them.
My writing at times became meticulously minuscule,
almost incomprehensible; but intriguing even to me -
to read back on them.
Tiny scribblings in 0.05 Staedtler pigment liners.
The amount of words that fit into one line,
What is all this stuff?
The stuff of my life.
This is what journals are for.
And I'll agree with Oscar Wilde,
they do make for interesting reading.
Something will fill the last two pages,
are not really pages,
they are blank,
which makes it justified for my writing on them;
and it might go something
Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
'Til your singing eyes & fingers
Drew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me,
Sail to me
Let me enfold you..
Here I am, Here I am
Waiting to hold you..
Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks -
For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:
O my heart, O my heart shies from the sorrow"
I am puzzled as the oyster
I am troubled as the tide.
Should I stand amid the breakers?
or should I lie with Death my bride?
Hear me sing,
"Swim to me, Swim to me, Let me enfold you:
Here I am, Here I am,
Waiting to hold you"