Waking From a Deep Sleep

Ever since I read the words of the poem below, I’ve been thinking a lot about Shug Avery from the movie “The Color Purple.” Her line, “He scratches out my head when I was ailin’” has been running through my mind. Because I know what she’s feeling. That connectedness of souls; there’s no replacement for that. And I know this because he scratches my head when I’m not ailing, he talks to me, he listens to me, he hears me, he gets me, he reads to me and with me, he is my best friend, my twin soul and he shares his words with me. And reading his words is like sipping on a glass of fine wine, a wine that it took me many years to find. I love the essence of him and there’s no replacement for that.

The poem that follows is another of my he said/she said poems. The one I wrote the other day, “Crying Out My Eyes For You,” which can be found here was in response to his poem, “Waking from a Deep Sleep.”

I fell into a deep sleep,

became lost in your thoughts.

I didn’t think I’d ever wake up.

The albatross was holding me under

and your love became the life jacket

that resuscitated my drowning heart.

I cannot think now without seeking

your face, only to be met with vivid memories

of a tight-lipped smirk and your sarcastic words

“Whatever. Here we go again.”

Words that are written all over your face

and so how could I not hear them?

My situation seems impenetrable,

unaffected by the magnitude of a star-filled sky,

as if though even the stars from above

have no say in determining my fate, but it does

provide me with a twin thought that a love like ours

will provide unshakeable faith in the process

while reaching out from our hidden space

somewhere in the deep shadows of the face of the moon.

Like a spacecraft in the sky,

I see your face hovering above, giving me

an everlasting love to look forward to.

I feel the place where love has touched me,

cradled my still-beating heart and caressed my face.

I love you in my thoughts while I

continue to seek your face. Please don’t go away.

Valued love can only replace a swollen heart,

one that has no place to grow from, an eroding love

box. Love has sentenced me to a cell where only time

has seemed to dwell and where our hearts can survive

by standing the test of time and creating a rhythm

of differing sounds, love played in unison.

Signed the Mysterious Poet Dude