Substance
By: Claire Cooper
A voice of substance pulses in the dark.
It dances in the light, reflects the shine
of other voices jumping to combine
each scintillating thought and each remark.
Our world has substance: ridges in the bark
of trees cast shadows settled like the line
that weaves beneath the sunrise; nature finds
its joy in giving off the largest spark.
But glass outside a windowpane is cold,
and I am thin; the sun shines through my face.
I wonder if I ever will be whole.
I break myself in fading out of place.
Come out, inhale, be stabbed with hope, my soul.
Forgive, and learn to love to take up space.
It dances in the light, reflects the shine
of other voices jumping to combine
each scintillating thought and each remark.
Our world has substance: ridges in the bark
of trees cast shadows settled like the line
that weaves beneath the sunrise; nature finds
its joy in giving off the largest spark.
But glass outside a windowpane is cold,
and I am thin; the sun shines through my face.
I wonder if I ever will be whole.
I break myself in fading out of place.
Come out, inhale, be stabbed with hope, my soul.
Forgive, and learn to love to take up space.
Writer's Statement: I like to write about all sorts of things, like my own experiences, stories I have heard, or things I am learning. I often start writing a poem with no clear idea of the direction it will take; I discover each part as I go.