From Nadir to Zenith – last poem of 2020

FurryTiger, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Mummified alive by cobwebs of lies and deceit
Numbed until she couldn’t see it
Spider poison talking in her ears
Corroded until her heart knew new only fear
Hiding within a surreptitious poised shell
Her soul walked the cold and lonely paths of hell
In concentric circles further and further away from herself
Until one day a peddler in a wolf pelt
Traded a scarlet apple for a rhyme
One bite, her being rang with creative passions chime
Hands writing forbidden poetry until frozen fingers paper crumble
Feets choreographing forms until they bled and stumble
There is nowhere for the petite rodent to hide her bright light
Her pointy shoes rap-tap-ratting in their flight
She sings with newly found voice
Creative suffering my life choice
For love I’ll walk through fire
Reify my heart’s hidden desires
Travel from dark nadir to bright zenith
Rise from the ashes like a newborn Phoenix

©RedCat

Willermoz.es, CC BY-SA 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/, via Wikimedia Commons

There really wasn’t time. Right now I should socialize and talk the night away. Instead I’m alone, polishing the last poem of the year. I felt it important to write one last piece. A piece of rebirth and renewal. So I searched for inspiration and found it in #skyloverwordlist.

The petit rat was something I just learned about watching Tiny Pretty Things.

Also shared with Open Link Night over at dVerse and earthweal open link weekend

Happy New Year!

28 thoughts on “From Nadir to Zenith – last poem of 2020

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  1. That’s a coincidence, we have both used the Phoenix analogy in our new year poems, yours from 2020 and mine from 2017! That’s a great image and hook in the opening line: ‘Mummified alive by cobwebs of lies and deceit’. I love the way you wove bits and pieces of fairy tales into your own story of ‘Hands writing forbidden poetry until frozen fingers paper crumble’, and the onomatopoeic ‘pointy shoes rap-tap-ratting in their flight’.

    1. Thank you so much! ❤️ I think that’s the first time someone thinks I managed to metamorphosis. I’m glad the joy, hope and faith it’s possible to go from darkness to light, shone through.

    1. I’m so happy the passionate creativity came flooding back. Even if for just a day. :-)

      I love little glimpses of history like that, especially connected to the performing arts.

  2. The poetic spirit cannot be extinguished, for it is the frontal lobe of the soul. Poets have gone to war like correspondents, but I have never read poems by Holocaust survivors. Perhaps we need to write it for them.

    1. Frontal lobe of the soul… Well said.
      I can’t recall such poems either, although I’m sure poetry about the Holocaust exist. Maybe they should be written, but I have to confess the thought makes me shiver.
      As a teenager I visited an internment site in Berlin where prisoners where interrogated, shipped to concentration camps or hung on the spot from the rafters. The place reeked of pain, suffering and screams. Or at least it did to me…

  3. I am quietly listening to jazz while reading poetry today. Two of my top three favorite things to do. This was so magical RedCat. A fantastical telling of a birth of creativity. Really, just beautiful!

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