Mere Flesh

Take me home

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Sun, 14 Oct 2007 03:59:00 +0000

Oh God, these tears are falling yet again
How can I ask for what I don’t know?
Oh Almighty, how can I approach you with these thoughts of sin?
Would that your holy fire would consume me
what blessing that would be
To carry me from this world of darkness
Slow my heart
Still my breath
Take me home

But how my unworthiness blocks that path
God grant your lowly servant peace.

Written by Rachel 3/1/2007

Supernova

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 01:15:00 +0000

burn bright
then explode
and become a black hole
that sucks up everything
even the light

Written by Rachel 12/10/2002

Lakeside Morning

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 09:40:00 +0000

From the Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 04:45:00 +0000

The stool is solitary in the middle of the room. The light is dim, the only shred of sunlight falling from the slit window in the wall, but even this is interrupted by the bustling feet of people, to and from in meaningless monotony.
The girl is gone. Company of the stool, she had sat with it on many a long night, warm comfort from her body the stool’s only life in a cold, dank basement.
Faint murmurs from the outside world break through the walls in soft waves; the constant grating of the clock keeps their rhythm. Occasionally the stool sighs, a creaking sound, as if remembering the shifting of her body as her pen ran across the page, crude sketches of unknown places brought to the plain room, narrow beams of light somehow brightened by the images.
The clock thunks on, and the stool sighs again.
In the corner lies her pen, ink almost dry and paper gone, it is as solitary as the stool, but untouched by light. It too remembers the waves, not waves of voices from the footpath above, but of water and faraway places unknown to the stool. It hears the soft laughter of the sea and the crunch of sand under her foot, bubbles of children’s play it had brought to life, onto paper through her hands. The drawings are gone now too, burnt, and mingled with her ashes in the sand of the place she had loved so much.
With the sighing of the stool, the pen aches inside, longing to be held again as the stool longs for her warmth.
The clock’s face remains expressionless as it marches on, each tick a death knoll for its listeners. Outside, feet continue to brush the path and the sun bows to the moon, their dance of time kept by the clock and the music of mingled voices.

In another world she stares out the window thinking of the girl. The hallway seems closed and oppressive, empty, echoing footsteps a dim recollection of a house forgotten. Concrete walls are replaced with sand, people exchanged for birds that talk to the sun on the water. The sun in turn smiles down on them, nestled in a white blanket of clouds, caressing her skin. Soft shadows fall on the picture at the window, the girl so young but smiling at the camera. Light is in her eyes, but this is met by sadness in the lined face looking down on her. Waves keep the rhythm here, swishing in and out, gently nudging shells that play on the sand in its wake. Time is irrelevant, and on the beach she sees the girl.

Her hair is wet, matted together by salt; it hangs at her neck and clings to her skin as she skips in white foam, frolicking with the shells. Voice light, she cries to the woman, laughter mingled in waves and the calls of the gulls. She bends and gathers the shells that catch her eye, shimmering greens and purples smile in her hands, face lit by the baby teeth that glisten in her mouth. Her hair’s blonde, like the sun that kisses her head and plays in damp ringlets, her eyes reflect the green of the deepest sea.

Pattering footsteps up the gravel path, school bag dumped unceremoniously, thick shoes and socks peeled off small feet, and thrown into the bushes. Her hair is darker and longer, wildly flying out behind her as she runs instinctively toward the rushing sea. Her school dress is soon soaked, the hem already falling down from capers through tangled tea trees in sand dunes. She remembers gentle admonishments that became scoldings, increasing as she grew in her own independence. Sun no longer plays in blonde curls and baby smile is gone. Instead serious green eyes peer out from a subdued face, hidden by paper while pen scribbles shells dancing on sand.

The sea screams and yells, pounding in fury as if wishing to escape its own confines. Inside, walls reverberate with shrieks. As the wind dies down outside, so does the storm inside, quiet peace mirrors the happy burbling of the calm sea. But storms come and go, and the house still shakes with the final crash of the slamming door that ended them all.

It was the last time she saw her. No word came for years, not a card or phone call. Happy face on the sill a reminder of a little girl lost. She continues to sit at the window, watching the sea, hoping to hear the pattering of footsteps on gravel once again.

Rain whipped the trees outside into a frenzy of leaves and splitting wood, rolling rings of the phone nearly lost in their cries. Deep sympathetic voice, words lost in confusion of dim recognition. The smooth wood box arrived a few days later. Silky grey ashes that run through arthritic fingers, flying away on a sea breeze, mingling in the sand and joining shells that swim in the shallows.

That had been a week ago, and she has barely moved from the window since then. Sun and moon bowed to each other and she watches them in silence, the photo at the window her only company. She looks at the card that had come with the box, all she has left of her, the address stares out, and, finally, she leaves her seat, and the sea.

The house glares out from the street, amongst newspapers and fast food containers, surrounded by buildings that looked to the sky. Lines of black-suited people, marching from one building to the other remind her of ants running between anthills, in constant bustle of endless business. Squeaking greets her ears as she enters through the rusted gate in a red brick wall. Beyond it the yard is concreted, weedy plants in cracked pots provide the only shred of green, and broken bricks lie where they have been knocked from the wall. The door crookedly gapes open at her, windows like dark eye sockets in a dead face. Shadows of people drift slowly on the paint worn porch, features sunken like the face of the house. The girl’s name shows her to a narrow flight of stairs disappearing down into the dark. Searching fingers find the light switch and follow the rail, steadying her on the old wood.

The pen in the far corner is caught by the light; fresh breeze from the open door stirs its blanket of dust. The stool is highlighted alone in the middle of the room, contrasting with its otherwise emptiness. All other traces of her have been removed, her few belongings thrown or taken, the stool a last reminder in a room soon to be occupied by another seeking refuge. She looks at the window, seeing the continual movement of feet from above, and then walks slowly to the stool. Wrinkled fingers run over the rough, worn wood, and she could almost imagine she feels the stool shudder at her touch. It creaks under her body, though she sits still without the shifting of the girl. The air breathes the fumes and murmurs of the city above, the silence of the basement room broken by the relentless ticking of the clock. It sits on the wall near the window, stern foreboding face like an old school headmaster; it is as strict in its job. It taunts her on the stool.
“Tick, here is the mother.”
“Tick, your daughter is dead.”
“Tick, soon you will be too.”
“Tick, I will count down your time.”
“Tick, alone on the stool, just like her.”
Pain wells up like an aching in her heart, recognition of her own mortality, and that of the girl. Rising, she launches the stool across the room at the unfeeling face. It cracks from nine to four, and the stool comes to rest near the pen in the corner. The clock however, maintains its stare, a mocking smile now splits its face as the sneering voice continues.
“Tick, there is nothing you can do.”
“Tick, I count down time.”
“Tick, count down your time.”
Ignoring the clock now, she moves to the corner, seeing the pen near the stool she pockets it, and then rights the stool. As leaden steps move back toward the stairs she hears the stool sigh again, and takes the last reminder of the girl from the room.
The clock continues to smile and tick.

The photo of the girl sits on the stool beside the window. The sun plays on her smiling face, reflections from the frame dancing across the pen that lies next to it, unused but its aching fulfilled. She smiles out the window, looking across to the sea. Gulls talk to the sun on the water, and the gentle swishing of the waves nudge the shells on swirling sand. The girl is gone, but she who came from the sea has finally returned.

Written by Rachel March 2005

To whom it may concern...

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 07:14:00 +0000

I wish my tears were like those of the phoenix...
sweet falling phoenix tears
with the power to heal your heart.

Written by Rachel 5/8/2007

And I wake...

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 23:41:00 +0000

Ever had one of those mornings where you wake up and realise how bad your life is going? That all of a sudden you are no longer functioning, no longer feel like a normal human being, a functioning member of society? Your life is falling to pieces around you and you have only just realised- how do I pick them up? How do I get back to where I want to be? How did things get to this point in the first place?

I wake up after my alarm has gone off about ten times, parched, dry, tired, and with a headache- the legacy of drinking till I went to bed the night before. I realise that it is starting to get in the way of my functioning- that the more I want to give up alcohol, the more I need to drink; and I can never just stop and a few glasses, always I am needing more, craving the numbness it brings to my body; the sleep that blocks away the outside world.

I lie there with my head pounding before I drag myself up to survey my room. Clothes are strewn everywhere, amongst books, bags, random scraps of paper that are probably no longer of any use, but just might be...haphazardly shoved to the side, out of sight, out of mind.

I realise that my life, like my room, is in chaos around me.

All morning, in a fogged state of half-consciousness, I know that things are not right. Not dead, but not quite alive, not asleep, but not yet fully awake, I feel like I am having an out of body experience. Images from haunted dreams shuttle in and out of my thoughts as trains at a busy station; graves and tombstones, rotting corpses in coffins, dying, death.

My eyes are weighted. My head is heavy. My body is a burden I can no longer stand to bear.

A million hot drops in the shower fall on my aching neck and shoulders, their drumming fingers soothing the tired, worn skin. How I wish I could clean the inside of me, to scrape the ugly darkness from within my being and watch it seep down the drain and to oblivion. I see it in the pores of my skin like black, slimy oil, impervious to the soap and water I scrub on, staining me with its existence, its repulsive presence in my life.

I am falling and grasping at the cold, cruel, empty air.

Part of me fears the death I know is coming- the unknown it brings. But I fear to live more in this ugly state of living death. My soul yearns for peace, to be embraced by comfort, to flee from this scarred, diseased and broken body.

Give light to my eyes O Lord or I will sleep in death. (Ps. 13)

If you are holding me, lift me up, or let me go. Just don’t leave me here to rot in my living hell.

Written by Rachel 2/4/2007

Reflections

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Fri, 16 Feb 2007 11:33:00 +0000

in the shattered shards of my soul
I see
a life that might have worked
had the pain not taken over
and smashed me to pieces

Written by Rachel 26/9/2004

Grant unto me

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Sat, 03 Feb 2007 11:43:00 +0000

My mind is consumed with the thought of my death
Where is my place in this world?
Will you not grant me freedom?
Will you not grant me peace?
Darkness fills my being day and night
I long to see it leak out of me
In dark red rivers
Till I am empty but for you.

(God grant me a reason to live)

Written by Rachel 3/1/2007

Reasons

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 22:44:00 +0000

there is a gulf between you and me
a million miles of roaring sea
no way for you to reach through to me
this is why we cannot be

we are so different you and me
alike we seem, but not to be
I am a separate entity
this is why we cannot be

and when we go out you and me
your hands run over lecherously
they make me feel so dirty
this is why we cannot be

and please stop asking about you and me
I’ve told you, yet persistently
you ask, I can’t handle being a “we”
and that is why this cannot be

Written by Rachel 15/11/2004

The Calling

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 23 Jan 2007 05:38:00 +0000

the sky was dark and grey
rain fell
a fine cold mist
enveloping all in its dampness
it wrapped around her
a cold wet blanket
as she trudged through the tea trees
the smell of salt and wet wood

he followed her shadow
through the fine damp mist
silently
the trees overhead
gnarled and twisted into a long, dark tunnel
water dripped from the branches
dripped down his face
mingling with his tears

clawed wooden arms reached out at her
scratching
tearing at her clothes and skin
pulling
dragging her back
dragging her down
wiping water and tears from her eyes she pushed on
not this time

she stumbled through the trees
into the open
the crashing of the waves
grew louder
called to her
she clambered up the sand dunes
soft and damp beneath her bare now bloodied feet
pain had become irrelevant

he quickened his pace
the ground became soft as he reached the dunes
grasping at plants and sand
he scrambled to the top
the lone figure on the beach
fading into the white mist
grey walls of water and white foam
as the waves smashed on the beach

the wind had picked up
long wet hair flicked into her eyes
in her mouth
the taste of salt and sand
the water rose to meet her
covering her toes
her ankles
as she walked in deeper

it was up to her knees now
the water cold
her feet unfeeling
her legs numb
creeping to her waste
the water foaming
sucking her out
drawing her further in

he stood high on the dunes
watching her figure shrink
as she walked further out into the mist
disappearing into the shadows
swallowed up into the water
a huge grey wave
crashing down on her head
the last he saw of her

the final stab of pain overtook her
then silence
as she floated free

he lingered for a while
the echo of the waves in his ears
a single ray of sunlight broke through
as he turned his face away from the sea
trudging through the tea trees
the smell of salt and wet wood
he could swear he heard her voice on the wind
singing, she was home

Written by Rachel 7/10/2004

Dear Friend...

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 11:45:00 +0000

It's always you
who is the one
to break my heart in two.

And yet I stay-
because I cant leave.

Written by Rachel 27/12/2006

Happy Birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 11:37:00 +0000

Watch me be alone again
as they all go away again
watch the world crash down again
descend to the depths of madness.

Gripping sorrow to swallow me whole
all my broken pieces from this empty vessel;
Even the night sky is black,
like the darkness consuming me from within-
no moon, no stars, no light of hope.

Tomorrow I turn 22-
and yet how can I celebrate?
my whithered soul is old and grey,
shrouded in the darkness of this life.

Give light to my heart,
some glimmer of hope in my night sky;
for without I shall sleep in death,
the accursed slumber of my lost soul.

Written by Rachel 27/12/2006

A Poem for Lyndal

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 19 Dec 2006 07:13:00 +0000

Would that I could be your God...

but I can't heal your heart inside,
only He, the one who died
to take your sorrow, heal your pain,
shoulder your burdens, and cover your shame.

Unfathomable love that lies in my heart,
yet His love was there from before the start.
And so intense His love for you,
He died...but rose alive!! Anew!!

And as I see and watch your pain,
I wish that I could break those chains.
Alas! I know it cannot be-
there's only one, and that is He!

It may take time: I'm here to stay!
to nurture, love, and guide your way.
I can't be your God, but I will be your friend-
I promise that will never end.

Written by Rachel 24/11/2006

You

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 28 Nov 2006 08:28:00 +0000

I still dream about you sometimes
sometimes you are cold
sometimes it's me who is cold
I feel confused, betrayed.
Guilty for feeling these things.

I dreamt about you again last night.
You were the same:
thick brown hair
and bright blue eyes.
You spoke to me,
said you wanted to talk about something.
I tried to smile,
said of course,
but you moved away again.

The time draws closer for us to meet again
face to face.
And I learn from past mistakes,
smile on past joys.
but pray I can release the past,
and move on.

Written by Rachel 5/7/2005

Flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Mon, 24 Jul 2006 00:52:00 +0000

Decided to go out and take close-ups of flowers in the garden a few weeks ago. Some of them turned out quite nice. I think I quite enjoy photography (although mine is very amateur)- capturing a moment in time, or the unseen beauty of something we take for granted.
A good website for those who like to admire other's photography (much better than mine!!) is photo.net

Suffocation

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Thu, 22 Jun 2006 02:51:00 +0000

like lecherous hands
seething over my skin
this crawling, heaving mass
swarming
like bees on a hive
the evil black shroud
suffocating body bag
hacking, slashing
I can't cut my way out
it only grows tighter
I can't breathe

Written by Rachel 2003

How could you resist a face like this??

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Wed, 24 May 2006 08:13:00 +0000

Scars

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 23 May 2006 09:22:00 +0000

their crooked mouths
peer out from my wrists
red smiles
mocking
laughing
while my mind silently screams for help

Written by Rachel 11/5/2005

Bubbles

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 16 May 2006 10:29:00 +0000

perfectly formed, round symmetrical
so delicate and fragile
yet there
so strong, floating lightly on the air
clear, but a shifting spectrum of colour
reflecting all that they see
free, directionless, unsubstantial, ethereal
then gone
and nothing but an illusion

Written by Rachel 3/9/2002

Destructive attachments

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Wed, 10 May 2006 11:10:00 +0000

stab me in the back
that's right
kick me when I'm down
go on
hurt me more
with those words you throw
like arrows, spears
they hit me in the heart
you're so careless
as you rip out my soul
suck out my life
all I have
you take
it's yours
and when you need me
I'll still be here
you say I won't
but I'll still be here
waiting
to pick up the pieces
and put you back together
the complex jigsaw
that will turn on me again
as shifting as the sea
you are
an unstoppable life force
I'm yours to hurt
(please be gentle)
I'm yours to trample
(I'm so scared)
treat me as you will
(of losing you)
and remember
(I can't take much more)
I'll still be here

Written by Rachel 5/9/2002

Stuck

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Tue, 09 May 2006 10:11:00 +0000

freight train, shotgun
poison, suffocation
so many ways
but instead I linger here
torn apart
a vessel filled with emptiness
and visions of death
my only purpose here is for them
I'm not sure why
they'd be better off without me

maybe without them
I'd have the courage to leave

Written by Rachel 6/10/2004

Happiness

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Sat, 06 May 2006 15:28:00 +0000

as simple as
playing cards in the bar
chatting with friends
a movie
being lost in a book

forgetting who you are
if only for a while

Written by Rachel 20/9/2004

Blankets

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Fri, 05 May 2006 22:35:00 +0000

comforting warmth
they press around me
soft voices
gentle hands
enclose me in their safe cocoon
but shadows shift
and voices change
raised and accusing
warmth now gone I long again to be safe

Written by Rachel 11/5/2005

The Hospital

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Thu, 04 May 2006 21:46:00 +0000

institutionalised
it's a very cold, sinister sounding word
like something from another decade
outdated
conjures up images of
white walls
conformity
captivity

it's not really so bad
safe, secure, comforting
a break from the outside world
quiet
but in a moment, chaos
I do not mind
for some unknown reason
this place soothes me

but I do miss the others
to whom I did the unthinkable
I have become the unforgivable
I'm not strong
perhaps that's why I'm here
but I do miss them
and pray they'll visit me
I can't entirely leave this world

soon I shall return
I wonder if that's such a good thing
if I can survive out there
it's a dog-eat-dog world
and I'm not so sure I can face it

Written by Rachel 30/10/2002

The Lingering Torn

noreply@blogger.com (Rachi) — Wed, 03 May 2006 21:52:00 +0000

they are nothing
nothing
nothing but words
and words can't help me now

beyond the realm of caring
I care not
for myself, I am worthless
a wasted existence

it is the others that keep me here
attached to them
I cannot escape
to hurt them is the unthinkable

the words are meaningless
they wash all around me
lulling me to sleep
small comfort, for soon I shall wake

wake
from nightmare
to reality
identical twins that mock me

I cannot escape
they know
they know
my time is soon to come

Written by Rachel 12/10/2002