There was a booming that night
Louder than water-covered footsteps,
Stronger than the white-knuckled grip of chains,
Higher than the thoughts of the soaring moon,
Cleaner than an overturned ceiling,
Faster than the blood racing through my body, yet
Weaker than the sighs coming from my heart,
Fainter than the lies i tell myself,
Rougher than the shape i trace across my frame,
Poorer than the ticking of the clock, as
I walk in self-doubting joy.
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Self-doubting joy. Yes.
Did you write this? I hope so, because it’s lovely. It makes me think of all of Auden’s poems about rejoicing- in one, he says,
“Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.”
There is something about poetry that can make you rejoice, even in the hardest of times. It’s funny that words put together in a specific shape on a page can have that effect…
I am very glad to have a fellow poetry-lover in my life.
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