Poet and fellow reader, Linda,
wrote poetry both during and after her involvement in a psychopathic bond.
This is the bond as seen through the unique lens of Linda’s personal experience.
Here are her words.
(As I was coming under his enchantment…)
Your hands are beautiful
They are an artist’s hands
They are a magician’s hands
They are a musician’s hands.
I am a canvas
I am an illusion
I am a lute
… play me.
© Linda January 2015
After a period of love-bombing I finally succumbed to his seductive enchantment. I chose to play the game, unaware of the emotional price I would ultimately pay. I tossed aside my scruples and violated some of my boundaries. I never trusted him, I always sensed unknown danger lurking, but the joy I experienced as I said, Yes! I will dance, I will fly, I will play the game, was wonderful. I wrote this poem as if in an ecstatic trance. Looking back, it is no wonder the withdrawal was so devastating. Tasting, and then losing, such rapture was the other side of joy… it was, for a while, black despair.
This is flirtation
This is a dance
Chasing a chance
Sweet little game
Birdsong and windsong
Whisper your name
This is our moment
This is our song
Of the right and the wrong
These are the lyrics:
Joy and regret
Sung for each other
© Linda 2015
He said, I have no power over you. (HA!) I answered (below) ~
and then this poem poured out…
“Ahhh my dear one, love is power. It will breach the walls,
disarm the defenders, raise a new banner over the ramparts.
In love there are no losers.”
Onto the field of battle Love comes rollicking,
Flags flying, bright barrels blazing, singing!
Against the high walls, dark with the stones of memory
Love’s trebuchet hurls greater forces, and his arrows fly.
On the battlements the defender trembles, recognizing this,
The shining face of Love, the conqueror.
As the trumpets sound a grand fanfare of joy
A banner with a new imprimatur is raised above the ramparts
And Love stands, gently beckoning: Come forth and claim your prize.
© Linda February 2015
March was hell, having said goodbye to him, but I had found your blog, so I knew I could survive if I would just wait… and I did.
Blessing the echoes
Cursing the void
Walking with ghosts
Waiting for ease
While the storms pass
Sunshine is warming
Where is the light?
Resting but ready
To bring back the morning.
© Linda March 2015
While Time works its merciful magic
And Love its alchemy
Transforming razorblades to butter knives
And lies to merely misperceptions
I listen to my heart
Crying for her home
That never was.
© Linda April 2015
Epilogue. Freedom! Reality.
The fantasy of sweet desire
Beguiled me. A Siren’s song
Drew me, dreaming, along.
I wore wings of a fearless flyer.
For those who foolishly aspire
To avoid Love’s debt, think twice:
Love will exact that price
In the flames of refining fire.
© Linda June 2015
I wrote this one just after I went back to him, for one week, in June. I recognized the evil in him then, and I did choose: Freedom!
The goddess Circe warns Odysseus about the dangers he will face at sea. One of these is the Sirens. Odysseus orders his men to stuff their ears with wax to drown out the lovely voices, and tie him to a mast so he can’t escape, but can still hear them singing. He orders them to kill him if he should break his bonds.
Listen Odysseus! Hear the sirens’ song
Calling to your deep desires
Lighting primal fires
Heed now Odysseus, what the others tell:
Here are dangers more intense
Than your best defense
See you, Odysseus, in this cursed strait
Hidden in seduction sweet
Is the moment you shall meet
Choose well Odysseus, tethered to the bow,
Between your freedom, or a chain
Forged from pleasure’s pain.
© Linda June 2015
And this is the last one I wrote about the journey…
Conjurer. Enchanter. False.
Sweet seductive stiletto
To the heart,
Playing adolescent games
With adult consequences.
Move on, Magician –
This space is taken.
© Linda July 2015
As I parted from him for the last time I became a victor, not a victim,
my totem transformed from a unicorn to a dragon, a member of the
Sisterhood of Survivors, wiser, stronger and free. But the echos…
You thought that you had found in me
A lamb with trusting eyes
But you had found a dragon
I thought that I had found the wings
To let me fly again
But I had found a dark abyss,
A demon’s den.
I stayed until the truth came clear
And my heart cried in pain
And, to defend myself, I rose
To fight again.
Now I am left with wishes and
A wistful little dream
I accept that things may not
Be as they seem.
My fires are banked, I rest alone
I know sweet peace, but still
I dream of flying… and perhaps
I always will.
© Linda August 2015
Who are we? The Other artists. Our canvas is the page, our pigments, words. The Word Weavers:
the Bards, the Troubadours, the Bohemians and the Beats, Homer and Whitman, Frost and Millay…
anyone who sings your song. The poets.
Love me and I will sing words
Scars made beautiful.
Cut me and I will bleed words
Some sweet as wild honey
Some salt in your wounds,
Razor blades, diamonds, fire.
Dare to taste my words
Lover, enemy or friend,
A song for you
Set to your own music.
© Linda 2015
Engraving arabesques into the autumn air
A kestrel files a flight plan, where
Both food and frolic wait to whet
His appetite for flash and flair
Above the earth, beyond regret.
Fierce and fearless, wing-wise, unaware
Of risks that threaten all who dare
To challenge standards often set
By those who lack the Savior Faire
Required to work without a net.
© Linda ~ 1994
♥ Thank you, Linda, for so generously sharing your powerful poetry with all of us.
BOOKS BY ADELYN BIRCH