Joseph Crowe Poetry

I used to believe

there was nothing in me

but flesh and bones.

What an oversight.

The body

remembers

all.

Easy to pretend

there's nothing in there

until it comes

bursting forth.

I used to believe

emotions were silly

little flimsy things

decorating the edges

of experience.

Now I know

they can blot out years,

consume an entire life.

Emotions deserve

our reverence. They are

our guide to the Real.

And there are fathoms

we must dive through

to reach the deepest Self.

Not every feeling is deep.

Some are years old,

trauma-born, not

in our original nature.

Others erupt

through our dreams,

lava fountains melting

false parts we thought solid.

What must come up

will come up.

If repressed,

perhaps at death.

Maybe that's the terror

in the eyes of the dying:

the gathering 'round

of all these neglected children

ready to merge.