Westerly

The way westerly
is a road of healing.

Heart-wrenchingly wounded,
I will flee, ‘ever-feeling
the weight of a love lost,
unrequited, but faultless.

Well, there is fault,
but it’s mine.

I am to blame.

I allowed myself a fantasy.
A dream that could not be.

But, in the dreaming,
I realized a thing…

the lesson is not loss,
sadness, nor fraying ropes,
barely hugging the safety
of rusted moorings.

The lesson is hope.

I am learning to walk,
and I will fall again.
I am learning to love.
I never thought I’d love again,
but, here it is,
as angst-ridden fire,
like teenaged-dreams,
I am illuminated by flames,
and I am burned by the rush
of youthful heart-pyres.

My soul hasn’t forgotten
how to live. I have rested
for too long, but I am ready
for flight. I am soaring.

Westerly.

I go westerly,
with a flower
in my lapel.

I won’t forget
these treasures.
Love, unrequited,
is still golden,
by grain or pound,
in measure.
It reminds me
that I am capable
of love, at all.

I rose in the East,
where dawn warmed my bones,
but the arc ends in Cascadia.

I will brush aside
the blackest earth
to welcome home
the greatest love

I’ve never known.

©️ CG Tenpenny, 2023.

Oregon is too far away.

Image by Justin Neal.