Soul Gazing

Soul Gazing

Sun, scorching the breath of the trees.
Birds basking in the kiss of the heat,
Serenading my summertime sadness.
It would be so warm if only
I could feel the pulse of you,
The heart of you.
Be the soul of you.

I see the view around me.
I see couples holding hands,
Gazing into eyes like they
Were gateways to the other.
Lips touch like hearts fluttering
In butterfly cascades.
It would be so thrilling if only
I could feel the essence of you,
The heart of you.
Be the soul of you.

What are we, but souls,
With gowns of fine flesh
And bones to hang our
Many faces on?
What is love but
Undressing our burden of robes?
Standing exposed and vulnerable.
Giving our soul in exchange
For a handful of heaven.

Angels whispering in the shadows of nightfall,
Moonlight painting sighs on solitude.
Ghosts may tell their stories of
Haunting hearts but
It would be so perfect, if only
I could feel the yearning of
Your soul,
The heart of you.
Be the soul of you.
Feel the soul of you.

Sarah Drury 2021

Say

Say

So much to say
To you,
But
So much I
Can’t say.

My tongue, it drips
In words as mute
As echoes
In a blizzard
Of silent
Hush hush whispers.

My mind hurts
With the constant
Cognitive constriction,
Minding my manners
And
Deluding my desires
In cloaks
Of decency.

I want the luxury
Champagne,
But the bubbles
Burst like
Insignificant dreams
Tumbling down
A heartbreak hill.
My tongue knows only
The taste of solitude,
And it is
So lonely,
Sitting in the night
With one glass only.

If only I could speak,
But I can’t.
I am a mute,
In a landscape of
Hollow hearts.

Sarah Drury 2021

My Heart

Ten years
Has my heart been
Slumbering in beds of
Somnolent roses.
All pink and dewy and tender,
And half asleep.
I didn’t intend to nap
For so long,
But the peace was
Heaven, and
Why wake when
Dreams paint such
Sweet, pastel visuals
On my iniquity?

If I see through my heart,
Then there are
No shadows.
Only the softest
Of glimmers
From a moonlit
Sea of
Ethereal emotions.
And if I hear?
Then dissonance
Has no hope amidst the
Resounding clamour
Of clandestine whispers.

And if I feel?
Then I reign with Neptune
In the realm
Of the ocean,
And my senses are
My promise and
My passions are
A premise

And
My heart
Is a gift.

Sarah Drury 2021

Easy

It is not easy
being so sentient
in an anaesthetised world.
I try and fold my feelings
into little origami ships.
Hope they will sail
nonchalantly into
a world where
life doesn’t sting,
anymore.

I can pretend it
doesn’t hurt.
Pretend I have a
heart of polished granite.
I can pretend that feelings
must only feel like
fireworks in the
new year’s sky.
That to feel is
to loiter somewhere
on a permanent,
spiritual high.

But I know
to be real
I need to feel
the stain
of salt kissed tears.
To sing the pain
as it washes through;
it never stays.
And I know I am there,
sometimes.
Origami ships are fragile,
and my skin is like
tissue paper,
and I absorb
the world at times.
And it can be too much.
Sometimes.

But,
it never stays.

Sarah Drury. 2021

Empty Chair

Written for my late husband, who passed away almost ten years ago.

As the warm,
comforting glow of
Yuletide shenanigans,
wraps itself around
my melted heart.
As the last candle on
the mantel,
sings a soliloquy and
melts into new
incarnations of its waxy self.
And the ten years since you
rendezvoused with
the light side,
I see your chair
all empty there.
Missing you.

That last Christmas.
Heaven knew
that the angel of time
was pausing
her inhibiting breath,
whilst you cherished your last.
We gasped those last months
in expanses of
winterscape lungs.
And I don’t know
but I’m sure the universe
painted our visions
titanium white,
what with the snow and
cerulean, stark winter sun skies.
I see the space in our bed.
The place where once was
mortal.
All empty there.
Missing you.

I knew you’d be here.
And you were.
Amidst the shreds of gaudy
and rips of tearing carnage.
Presents from a widow’s
best efforts.
Brave smiles, well-rehearsed
after ten years of
Xmas dinners for two
and only one big one
at the table.
Playing secret Santa
and making all the
responsibilities
look easy.
There should’ve been
Frolicking with crackers,
and snapping away
our feigned hilarity
as we tossed lame jokes
into joyous memories.
But turkey’s for two
now.
Your plate all empty there.
Missing you.

Sarah Drury 2020.