contact us

Writers for Recovery is always glad to hear from you!

           

123 Street Avenue, City Town, 99999

(123) 555-6789

email@address.com

 

You can set your address, phone number, email and site description in the settings tab.
Link to read me page with more information.

Read Our Work

"Move Toward Love" by Gabriel Brunelle

Gary Miller

It occurs to me
that I don't know how to love;
I don't know how to love me,
and I don't know how to love you, too.

I am lost
in the dark.
It is such a lonely place in which to be.

Yet now I have this truth,
like a black and garish idol, square-toothed and rectangle-grinning, like a floating compass stone
suddenly unspinning.

Am I really lost,
at the center of a terrible truth? Can there be a terrible truth? Am I really gone,
caught in the darkest spiral?
Is the dark really dark,
inside the golden angle?
And am I really alone
with this new truth, this totem?

The idol is made to gold.
Yes;
once grisly slick and monkey-grinning, the grime now rimes a glow.
The truth
is made
of gold,
and so my time
is spun to gold --
teased,
gathered,
and worsted bright
from the blackness
in my soul.

And so the dark

becomes the light; the cloudy ink illuminates.

Maybe it always could.
Coming from nothing except ourselves, the color is of the mind.

That is what is meant,
when describing the philosopher's stone; the sinker becomes a sponge
when turning lead to gold;
the alchemy is of the mind.

And St. John said,

". . . the truth
shall make you free."

Yet what shall come of me? What shall I become,
now I see
the world anew?

For still I am alone.
Still I can not love me,
and still I can not love you, too.

All this golden truth,
all this painted color,
and still must I move from one place to another.

With sinker turned to compass stone, and spiral turned to mountain slope, to love myself
I must move toward love.

I must trust that movement to be enough;
to be a dream ascension unto itself;

my love for all of us
will be met in that same motion.