Excommunicado
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Fifteen faces
Study me kindly.
Their care weighs
On me.
Do they know
Me really
Beyond one or two?
Does God still
Want me?
Once we joined
Music filling voids
Between stars.
I hear now only
Pierced hands
Pressing quiet
On my
Beating heart.
∞
-Lona Gynt, February 2020.
………
This is posted in response to the Quadrille prompt by De Jackson (Whimsy Gizmo) at dVerse Poet’s Pub. The assigned word is “fill.” Come on over and get yours. Here is the Link! 🙂
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All rights reserved for text to Lona Gynt, February 2020. The pictures were taken by me during a visit by my Second Life Avatar to the seminal exhibit “Dreamers” in Second Life by Cica Ghost. I miss that exhibit, y’all need a taste of something that was beautiful and now is gone forever. Here is is.
·
Scattered thoughts made a little more random 
Wonderful poem Lona
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Thank you!
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Most welcome
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This is such a great statement of how the joy of life has been turned into a crown of thorns!
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Thorns have their place, even when self inflicted. When something has been important to a person, it can be worthwhile to have some accountability. I was treated kindly, and I hope the hope and peace comes through. Thank you my friend, I have missed y’all.
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Hope all goes well with you!
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Thank you friend
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Oh, Lona. This is just gorgeous:
“I hear now only
Pierced hands
Pressing quiet
Upon my
Beating heart.”
Such words of praise. Beautiful.
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Thank you! I am glad you heard that! 💕
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Happy to read you again, Lona. The video shows a beautiful compelling place. Sorry to hear it is gone.
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The best Second life exhibits are like an extended frost: stunning, delicate, and doomed never to persist. No artist has ever executed that medium, in my opinion, better than Cica Ghost. Try some of my Cica Ghost taglines for some additional appreciations. 💕. So good to be back here again.
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Thanks for the tip on more of Cica creations!
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This is beautiful, and even though I can’t help but be a little sad, I’m so glad you’ve found peace and comfort. 💖
I yelled with excitement when I saw you had a new post. I’m working on writing some creative nonfiction after all (maybe?! I think?!), but I haven’t finished anything yet, so my brand new blog remains empty.
Love you!
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Thank you Caroline! So grateful for you! Did you get the link from Dr. Temple on the HLA creative non-fiction group? It will be wonderful to read you. 💕
It did feel good to get something posted again.
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I didn’t! Would you send it to me?
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https://m.facebook.com/groups/267470404230901/?notif_t=groups_more_posts_in_new_group¬if_id=1581202802683901&ref=m_notif
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I like how you’ve conveyed the pressure other people can put on the individual with their kindness. Sometimes it gets too much to bear.
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It can be a lot to bear, but some things just have to be done. I am grieving rather than complaining, overall I am glad I showed up. The kindness wasn’t fake, which really helped.
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I’m wondering who the fifteen faces belong to. I took it to be a support group, people who care without knowing you, not really. The pace of the poem is lovely, stately. I hope you have found some peace of mind.
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Thank you Jane. The people were a disciplinary council from my church, but they really were acting in my case more like a support group in some ways. Comforting more than judging. Still, it was tender. I appreciate for your comments regarding the pace of the poem, the constraints of the Quadrille actually helped me with that. Thank you my friend.
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If they are a support, then that’s okay. Don’t let them bully you though!
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True Jane. Thank you!
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🙂
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A beautiful poem Lona and I cannot imagine a God who wouldn’t want his own creation. A beautiful video too, thank you so much for sharing 💜
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Thanks, me too, as it turns out. 💜
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The fear of not being wanted runs in many. You spoke it.
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Thank you Ali. Nice to belong somewhere
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I really loved the first part where I feel the weight of people’s care… sometimes kindness can be overbearing (maybe I misunderstood it all)
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thank you Björn. It can all be overwhelming sometimes,
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I can’t imagine why God wouldn’t want you. I like the description of pierced hands on one’s heart.
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Thank you Frank
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Good poem. Those are some intense questions.
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Yes. And the more intense the question, the less likely there is to be an answer except for what one can feel in her gut. All the walls have been spun down for me now, all I am left with are threads. I need a rope.
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