I don’t consider myself a poet in the least, but wrote this about a year ago for a writing group exercise. We had a random list of five words and needed to connect them through verse. I’m including this piece as a marker for where I was emotionally as I began my journey of rediscovery, even though a year ago I was well into wrestling with my decision and actions. Sometimes, we know a lot more about our reality than we allow our conscious selves to recognize.
Features chiseled, framework fading,
crumbling steel not always so strong.
This is no imitation of failure, it is real.
The root pulling from inside, dragging it all down.
There is no saving what had been built.
Time has passed, it is not the same.
Windows climb higher, but reveal nothing new.
We theorize the value of preserving an essence,
clinging to its history.
But there are new beams that need constructing,
new stories to add.
Sometimes we must allow one to fall so that another may rise.
The old has lost its time.
It begs us to renew it while tearing itself apart.
None could feel safe in this shell.
So I wait and hope it does not fall in on me.