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Tuesday, November 23, 2010

"All's Quiet on the Western Front"

All’s Quiet on the Western Front

Lydia Nolan

July 14, 2009

Outside, it’s pitch, and the only sounds I hear

Are occasional cars; and howling coyotes nearby—

It’s past midnight, I think to my Self. The Christmas lights are on in the patio.

So, tip-toeing in the darkness, I sway as the wind chills me inside.

I see the moonlight—"It’s past midnight, all you...!"

I say aloud. But no one hears me. So, I ask as loudly,

How do I reinvent my Self? Being that my Self is nearly over—

I’m asking the dark...I'm tired...the dark is elusive, the moon beams proudly.

A blanket of stars comes forth, and these eyes intensify—

I must admit I never really heard myself think through the darkness,

But, I’m by my self, this late dark night, passed midnight—

And it seems an enchanting moment that I wish to caress.

I let go of my desperate desire to mirror the models,

To look at my own reflection, and arrest my self-loathing—

I listen to the quiet, looking out into nothingness,

And calling me...a voice: don't ignore your breathing—

All’s quiet on the western front tonight— is what I hear.

Go back to sleep, my dear…the stars say, all will be better in the morning's light…

Go back to sleep…

Outside it’s pitch black. Sounds I hear

Are coyote howls, shaking trees —and me....

Its midnight: my courage gives way to fear,

But now I look up and see the stars shine brightly, again

Watching me—

Guiding me—my journey out into the cold earth’s horizon....

I left the Christmas lights on around the patio—yes: the boundary.

That sways in the wind. They flicker, as if winking, too

Pantomiming the moonlight—but unlike that great star...

How do I reinvent my self? I’m thinking, now it’s coming daylight.

When all my Youthful years have passed me by—

I feel tired. The dark is dubious. The road winds into the unknown....

A blanket of stars came forth earlier; intensified, before leaving, then said:

Don’t worry: we will light your way; God—will surely light your way.

I admit I never really hear myself think—

I much prefer to listen to the stars, the skies, the wind, and the trees...and others...

Until I’m by my self, late... passed midnight— and then I hear me breathe.

I realize I’m the only one here, so finally, I listen to me.

“Let go,” I tell my Self, “of that desperate desire to mirror the models.”

And I see my own reflection on the glass table, “try and rest easy tonight—“

I Listen intently to the quiet; looking into nothingness,

Peace is calling out to me; Fear is trying to muffle the sound.

But, again: All’s quiet on the western front tonight—I hear.

Remember the Journey is for eternity—I hear.

Only believe—that is what I hear.

Then, I go inside to rest.

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