You are the light, that resides bright,
in my heart, I keep you in sight;
waiting each day, for your great might
to heal earth’s blight, to heal earth’s blight.
My own afflictions, are in need
of healing balm from Gilead;
shine your light on Zion, my G’d,
we will concede, we will concede.
Seeing that You, beyond the sky,
hear our prayers, upon our cry;
we beckon You, with heavy sigh,
quickly comply, quickly comply.
Soon to relieve, our sad duress,
grant us access, when we confess;
speak words of health, may we be blessed,
good bye to stress, good bye to stress.
These seeds in earth, are sown to grow,
sprout with care, even in shadow;
wounded when torn, return to glow.
let healing flow, let healing flow.
It is very hard to write this way, beginning things backward…
– Hemmingway, The Torrents of Spring (1926)
Like a canvas, a tabla rasa, a fertile void,
I sit in front of the screen with a blank document.
The contents of my personal past, impressions,
stored in long term memory, surface upon reflection.
The neocortex bears its fruit, when searched at will,
for the pieces, fragments, and shattered images.
What is actually “recalled” may be newly formed,
especially if semantic memories mix with episodic.
In placing any of these reflections upon a blank page,
they are first filtered through perception.
Perhaps, an artist has more control with a brushstroke,
than a poet, taking liberty with shadows and light.
This is the question, how to present the puzzle,
in a way that best represents the truth?
Only the truth can bring healing to my soul,
letting the light of G-d, in all of its radiance,
pour into the deep crevices of a psyche,
shattered years ago, slowly being rebuilt.