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Best Poems From
AMANDA SAVELEY
(December 29,1987)
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53.
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God Is Out To Lunch, Please Take A Number
I'm done hating You now.
I accept that which I cannot change
And acknowledge the self-infliction
I understand as much as I can
And do all that I need
Nothing stops hurting,
Hating You makes the walls of my denial stronger
But the pain is still ever-present
Popping up unexpectedly,
Like a guest to dinner that no one wants
That eats at my soul
Until all that I was
Is barely more than a memory
Waiting for my resurrection,
I cannot depend on You for aid
I cannot bear to ask
It is not my pride which prevents my submission
But the knowledge that acceptance does not solve
Just makes apparent
How can I numb this,
Ice my wound until all I feel
Is the irritating pangs of my regret
Which dull after time
Until I am little more
Than a shadow
Amanda Saveley
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54.
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Grounded
Alive...
I am alive.
By a tiny string tied at the ends,
I am alive.
Tied to heavy rocks and posts,
I am alive.
Weighed down by the rocks and posts
Personal baggage and past ghosts
Tied to these things, to the ground squarely
Yes, I am indeed alive...
But barely.
Amanda Saveley
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55.
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Her
I miss her...
Her kind smile...
Her fond words...
Her jokes...
I miss everything about her.
Her eyes, rolled every so often
The way she used them
To look at me
Like things I did meant something.
What I would give to see those eyes again
To talk about the philosophies of life
With pauses for necessary sarcastic commentary
And her laugh...
What I would give to hear that laugh again
She grows each day
In superb magnificance
And to think that perhaps I had a hand in that brilliance...
That beauty...
It makes me feel
That maybe,
Just maybe...
I might have accomplished something worth doing.
Amanda Saveley
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56.
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His Hands...
His hands...
I watch them intently,
Waiting for what secrets they might unfold
Beneath those fingers that grip the pen
That spills the ink
That makes the picture
That opens my mind
That shows me the world
Without making me leave where I sit
His hands...
They've known everything
And yet they know nothing
They are innocent
But they are tainted all the same
They are brilliant
But misunderstood
His hands...
The writing that comes from them is strange
But the words...are beautiful
Like a flower
They wilt beneath my fingers
And I kept them
Even the ones with thorns
That prick
And sting
And make me bleed with their honesty
His hands...
Have broken me...
But through the pain...
They have made me better
Amanda Saveley
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