The darker time of my life. Simple explanation: the first poem is about knowing you should divorce, but deciding to stick with it one more time because of hope, mostly.
The second one is, I think, my darkest one. I remember writing it at work (yeah, the muse hit at a bad time). I was depressed. I had broken up with someone who I thought was very special and the one. She wasn’t and it did not go well at all, hence, my depression.
______________________________________
(unnamed)
By Scott L Vannatter
May 14, 1986
And what was I to do?
___ YOU, sitting there crying, sighing
and I, lost, as usual, not knowing
what to say
what to do.
The words dribble out, the rope slipping,
white gown, ring, and promises sliding down the slope
to be lost FOREVER.
Endless word, circling upon itself and beginning again,
heading back toward that same, fitful end. –sorry-
Such a fragile gift, hands clasped, vows solemn and meant
Care, Love, Life co-exist, mingled with reality and pain.
Then pain moves to the front, other three settle,
waiting – often in vain – for their (last?) chance.
Trust falters, Anger loves, decibel voices, clear – uncomprehensible.
circling vultures, dark foreboding of the end act.
thread swinging just out of reach.
A leap into the abyss and the choice is made.
The fingers slapping thread and grasping for life.
Hang on! And the i becomes I becomes US once more.
__________________________________________________
Now That the Blackness has Gone
By Scott L Vannatter
9/11/91
Now that the blackness has gone, the swirling void
no longer empty, I am scared.
Blackness is certain, ability to know all exists there.
The pattern now falls into a chaotic maelstrom of events,
each separate but intertwined into an inconceivable lacework
of frantic bits.
I lose myself at times in the seeming senselessness of
it all, and I run, slowly at first, then at a screaming pace
until I collapse breathless and shake in confusion.
Choices abound in a never-ending tornado of life, is life.
I look back, over shoulder, seeing the past catch up, a
horse coming from behind to pass by sneering.
Changes made, outward then inward, slowly then quickly,
a new mold made by cracks and patches, pain stretching the shape
making mountains of molehills, molehills of mountains, a new me.
The change is scariest. For in the changing I lose the me
of old, a dear friend –to the end- to the end of ends. (Amen)
The Phoenix rises, but only after the burns have ceased.
I feel the searing, tearing, stabbing, jabbing, pain heats
to nova, exploding in heat of passing passion, confusing senses and
mind spots, thoughts of it all, of nothing at all.
A spot of light, shaft of brilliance, guidance, a hand-hold
to mind-sense. To this I cling, sing, bring a roulette turn of life to the chaos.
This be the God of me, mine, and I see through my blindness
the specter of man-hope. Grasping for the straw, the carousel ring,
I wiggle in my saddle, almost fall but held up by helpful hands, I
stack the blocks, one on the other, and the foundation will strong
remain. I scared, I am, I will ever be – me – to the end (Amen).
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