Scar Tissue

in #poetry6 years ago (edited)

The Fall of Lucifer - Gustave Dore 1866.jpg

I turn around, and there he stands.
My very own fallen angel,
my very own demon.
I've put him out of mind,
but one can never truly let go of one's past.
I've given a name to the personification
of hurt and doubt and pain.
Because naming things gives you strength over them.
I've named him Malachite.

Lifetimes upon lifetimes,
I have lost to him.

You cannot outrun your self,
you cannot escape your past.
The promises of one's folly,
no matter how many lifetimes ago,
are always there.

He'd kill me if he could.
Again.
Though he knows I've conquered him before,
but even that would be my undoing,
a death to all that is warm and flowing within,
as I take up that frozen mantle
once more;
The Obsidian Throne.

You are always yourself,
even when you don't wish to be.
Even when you'd like nothing more than to
let go
of all the hurt
you've received
and inflicted on others.
On yourself.

But whose mask do you put on,
after you've killed yourself?
Who are you when you put on
someone else's face,
when you hide in someone,
something,
that does not feel;
certainly not pain.
Not his,
not others',
which you've inflicted?

Who looks back in the mirror,
then?
And Malachite would win.

He sees this reprieve,
I've finally found.
Happiness.
Such a fragile word,
such a fragile armour.
He'll remind me, gently,
that hope is the hope-killer.
That it is hope that opens me up,
to the chill that lies beneath.
He'd remind me,
that love might be my armour,
against his suggestions,
against his imprecations.
but love is also the chink.

We try to outgrow our scars,
but it is scar-tissue that keeps us bound,
that prohibits growth.

I've never been as fragile,
as I am now;
having opened myself up once more.
I've shed this armour of scarification,
but the pain of memory,
and the memory of pain,
of old lifetimes
without end,
is not so easily undonned.
And this pain,
his name is Malachite.

My own personal jailer,
who tells me he'll win.
And on these nights,
it is all I can do,
to not close up again.

This is my first chance.
And my last.

Separator line_smallEST.jpg

This piece of poetry burst out of me in fire and brimstone, with the taste of ash in my mouth, and the feeling of hot lead in my stomach. It is the piece of poetry that had undergone the most editing and rewriting. The only poem harder than this to write was my first real poem in 9 years, Return to The Garden, which was both about the shedding of the scar-tissue, and a big part in the process of doing so.

While the original version clawed itself out, it still needed ironing out, because word-vomit is not what we share. Yet, I tried to keep the urgency and the pain of it intact. Pain that I'll likely never be free of.

For those wondering, unlike my other poetry pieces with their biblical or Greek Mythology or... references, the Malachite and The Obsidian Throne written of here are part of my inner cosmology, and my writing of them goes back the better part of two decades. This is a piece that does what all poetry should, bring the reader into the world of its author. These are not out-ward facing references, no need to look them up.

Thanks to all the Isle of Write members who gave me feedback and encouragement on the piece, and all the others: @poet, @jrhughes, @whoshim, @carolkean, @authorofthings, @dbooster, @negativer, and @carmalain7.
And thanks most of all to @mamadini, my love for whom might be the chink, but it is also the armour, and the reason to keep fighting to change. To be and do better. And also the one whose light changes me, without trying.

Check out my latest posts:

IOW COLOR LOGO.png
art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

The image used in this post is The Fall of Lucifer, by Gustave Doré, 1866, and is public domain.

© Guy Shalev 2018.

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I am enjoying reading your poetry more lately, now that I know some of the backstory and themes you have that are recurring. I also enjoy reading it more as a story (rather than poetry) since I feel that takes the onus off the reader to try and interpret (manufacture?) meaning or identify with the writer (nervously pretend to understand?) and just enjoy the story as it unfolds to them.

Obviously, anyone can read anything however they want, but I choose to read these like a poetic short story.

Great read, in any case!

A lot of interesting ideas to unpack here, I'd start by asking what backstory and themes you refer to in particular? I assume by "themes" you mean my use of angels, heaven, and other biblical imagery? That is what happens when you're a Jew raised in Israel. Even if I treat Judaism as my culture rather than as my religion, then it's definitely a myth I know a lot about. You can see Greek mythology recurring in my writing as well, but somehow my third main mythic love, Norse mythology, never finds its way into my poetry. Only into my poetic prose...
Though in my "Three Days' Longing" poem, I will admit that I was considering using Loki's torture over Prometheus's.

Now, I must ask you a question about your interpretation of story - do you not think we manufacture the meaning as the readers of a story as well? Is there truly a "story" in those words? And if you and I read the same book, will we think the story is about the same things, with the same meaning? I think those are bold claims that I can't agree with.
It's just that you don't have to work as hard to follow the narrative, in most stories. Then again, is this a feature of poetry, or just of poetry that is not well-written enough, that you can't actually follow its narrative? Or perhaps it's a casualty that is worth having for the sake of imagery. But perhaps rhyme-led can also be joined by imagery-led, at times.

Also, that line, "identify with the writer (nervously pretend to understand?)" resonates with what I mentioned to you recently, about people not trusting themselves to read poetry - because they come to it with a conception that they must resonate with the author, rather than let the poem resonate with them.

And I'm glad you found a way to read the poem that spoke to you, and even if it didn't speak to you (nervously trying to understand ;-) ), that it was an enjoyable (so to speak, this is not a "fun" poem, after all) experience for you.

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Beautiful lines in this!

"but even that would be my undoing,
a death to all that is warm and flowing within,
as I take up that frozen mantle..."

"Happiness.
Such a fragile word,
such a fragile armour."

are two of my favorites.

And of course: "This is my first chance.
And my last."

Such a powerful ending. That place where internal struggle seems hopeless, but on some level we know there has to be a away...

Oh man, I know that place.

Loved this @geekorner, thanks :)

Wish I had any upvotes left...

I don't understand this having no upvotes left....?

Lolo I thought I didn't bc I upvoted something and didn't see the rewards go up... but just tried it on this post and saw that I still have two cents! :D

Well, you can always upvote for 0, like most minnows :D Anyway, it's the comments that really matter <3

I know... just trying to refrain long enough to recover some voting power ;)

Thank you for the kind words :) And yes, if there's one thing that I do aim for, unlike what I told @adamada, about the imagery coming naturally, so it is not a "skill", I do aim for the ending that is impactful. That sticks with you for a while.

And yes, it is all about the duality of hope, that ending. Just as the pieces touches on, exactly in the segments you pointed out, that in joy might come our undoing, and yet, we strive, for we can do nothing else.

"the duality of hope", yes. The thought that it would be easier to just give up, the inability to do so. The simultaneous possibility of healing or of further hurt...

Or that hope is both what frees you, and what damns you, when you try to learn on it.

:D yes, or that...

Again, that tightrope act: how to hope, without it becoming a crutch?

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This is stunning, Guy - stunning!
You are always yourself,
even when you don't wish to be.
Even when you'd like nothing more than to
let go
of all the hurt
you've received
and inflicted on others.
On yourself.

Malachite
Well-named!
We try to outgrow our scars,
but it is scar-tissue that keeps us bound,

Everything about this deeply personal poem resonates - not just with me, I'm sure, but anyone who is human and has feelings and a conscience.
Thank you for sharing this.
May the next one burst out of you, not with brimstone and ash, but the fire of love, joy, and all that is good!

May the next one burst out of you, not with brimstone and ash, but the fire of love, joy, and all that is good!

Thankfully, most of my poetry since joining the blockchain had been of this nature. Heck, if you were to see my old poetry, across 7 years, almost all of it was dark. So I definitely appreciate the fact I can tell the painful poetry as being the exception around here.

And I am both glad that my poetry spoke to you, and sad, that you, and others, can actually resonate with it. Thank you, Carol <3

In this poem I feel that you've beautifully captured many of the dichotomies of life and experience... Hope, the hope killer... Love, both armor and chink... The pain of memory and memory of pain... The value and simultaneous, dangerous pain of vulnerability...

Thank you.

😄😇😄

@creatr

Ahhhh man. I can feel duality flowing through these words.

I've given a name to the personification
of hurt and doubt and pain.
Because naming things gives you strength over them.
I've named him Malachite.

I might be completely wrong, but what I took from this poem personally was a very clear reflection on the fight between the inner demons of past disappointments and the realities of now. I love the above lines as (to me) they represents that healing process, of naming, recognizing and calling out those demons to find resolution... or I could be reading a whole lot into this poem lol.

So many fantastic images though @geekorner

We try to outgrow our scars,
but it is scar-tissue that keeps us bound,

Who are you when you put on
someone else's face,
when you hide in someone,
something,
that does not feel;

Thanks Rowan!

You're somewhat right. The naming of these aspects is simply because they are there. A resolution, maybe not.

Though the demons try to fight the now, they were long-time companions of mine, and they were the present, in the past, and the present I try to avoid now.

Very powerful image of the masked face looking back in the mirror, discussing who it would be, then... and the armour of scarification has assonance that stayed with me. I wish you luck in your fight against Malachite.

"Assonance," another new word! And yes, I did go for that there, though I thought of it in terms of "alliteration," though it's indeed the same word.

Thank you for the well-wishes geke. I'll be doing my best. That's all we can do.

And questions of who we are always strike a chord, it seems. Nobody's ever sure, not fully.

@geekorner, I'm sorry I found this post so late. Just came across @carmalain7's overview of his first month, in which he lauded you as...

friend, mentor, confidant or catte brother in arms

and linked to this specific poem, summing it up as:

... the dichotomic nature of needing to outgrow our scars to develop, but our scars also being the entities that limit our growth.

I'm just very grateful to have met you both. At the beginning of my 14th day now on Steemit, yours is one of about three Steemit posts that triggered tears that kept me company all the way through.

Thank you. I look forward to enjoying more of your work.

Hey Angela! Don't mind coming here late. The posts last forever, presumably, and comments are worth more than most upvotes anyway :)

I hope those were good tears, and I hope you'll enjoy whatever new writing I manage to come up with. Hope you like your stay, and Alain's a good boy too :)

Thank you, @geekorner!

They were heart-opening and insight-welcoming tears. And yes, those are always good. ;)

I'm sure I will. I'm following you and see I already have two more pieces to catch up on. Good going!

Eeeeks!!! Thanks for reminder... have to go see what good boy @carmalain7's been up to. ;)

Thank you for sharing your lovely words with us, it was painful to read. Not painful as in terrible, but painful as inducing an emotional response. That is all we can hope for in writing or storytelling, that it has the potency to affect others, even if only in tiny ways.

We certainly all have our own demons to face, in endless battle. Some pull as backward into deep chasms, and some pull us forward, upward into the heavens and blind us to the jagged cliff.

I wonder... Is there a chance that your demon's name, Malachite, has a root in מלך? A fallen king, sometimes ruler of emotion?

"Melekh" did not have a conscious effect on Malachite's name, but it's possible (BTW, "Melekh" means king, just that), though it's possible the Molekh, which I wrote a piece of poetic prose about before, had more of a part in the naming.

And thank you. Having an emotional impact is all a poet should hope for, right? Well, I hoped to get the feelings out there, and then to be understood, as much as we all wish to be understood, and in spite of the impossibilities of conveying thoughts. And yet, I am also a writer. So when people tell me that something I wrote had an emotional impact on them, it means a lot. Thank you. And yes, it was painful.

Besides, though it's an oxymoron, things can be terribly beautiful or touching as well. And those things are what we write poetry about.

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