The pattern again.

As never before

I feel the threat of loneliness loom

and the lure of the sensual ephemeral pleasures

that may appease the shallow fragmented self

that seeks escape to numb the self 

that clamors for truth.

Such a vacuum lingers.

Passionless. Without a country,

belonging nowhere and to nobody; 

for attachment forms strings

that pull we puppets.

Have I been asleep for 20 years or merely in a stupor?

When I probe into my inner storehouse,

there is nothing but the echo of a confused cry 

tethered within the cell of a false identity

 reverberating against the musty darkness

…then disappears.

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BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT…

Coming soon – The upcoming release of Ronaye’s  book by British publisher in London, England; to be available on Amazon.

                                    

                 …with a broken wing
Expressions of
the Human Spirit

poems by Ronaye Hudyma

Description:

Whether contemporary, classic, or peppered with Elizabethan eloquence, this profound ensemble of 130 poems is not stationary. They move as if conducted with a maestro’s baton –fluid between the euphoria of life and love, the drama, the anguish of death and loss, with every nuance of human emotion spilling upon the pages.

They are poignant words written with the transparency of youth, gathering maturity and experience, evolving to wisdom, into the spiritual realm.

This is not just poetry. There are a million stories in each poem. Once for each of us. From the teenager discovering their individuality, the young adult challenged by relationships and the world around them, to the Elder denizens of Earth, who cherish their memories as veterans of life, this is a book to be read and reread, a keepsake to console, embrace and affirm your recognition of the truth within yourself that is already there.

 

 

 

MUD ON YOUR SHOES

Wipe your feet before you enter.

There is mud on your shoes

accrued from the collective 

as you wander through the minefields

of the human mind.

Negative thoughts are contagious, 

drag you along, stick, cling to you,

raining on your surface self,  

soaking you, convincing you they are yours.

Shake them off. 

Strip bare and listen to the silence.

It is your umbrella.

A BOOK OF REVELATION

There is no sunset,                   

Only darkness closing in–

the black ink of night spilling upon the pages

of what was once great literature, 

now ending as cheap fiction.

You were written as indelible and

I, only penciled in, then erased.

There are no stars over the marquee, no blinking lights.

It was me who crowned you King of Hearts–

a bit player with a walk-on-part

eclipsed by your shadow, waiting in the wings

for a chance to be your leading lady.

After all these years, all these tears, 

you are gone, like you never were.

Every thought is dissonant with how little I meant to you,

every breath a negation of life

and  how little time I actually spent with you.

There was no you, there was no me.

 My mind conceived you, my heart deceived me 

Until a cold-water awakening

yanked me out of my stupor

from a worldliness sleep

into realms of wakeful truth,

ripping the residue of what remained as love from my eyes.

These words are all I leave you– 

not as a kiss or a touch,

perceptible only by pen and paper.