In the wake of heartbreak, where do answers dwell?
Do we seek them in the wound—or in the wounding source?
And is there comfort to be found in their silence?
I don’t have answers—what I have are four poems speaking in their silence.
Ask the Knife
What am I doing—
asking the knife
who pierced through me
about my pain?
The Names
If I were to believe you,
my pain would be named love,
and my death would be named...
you.
Cruelty and Orchids
And so cruelty
has brought orchids—
black seeds blooming
from decay.
And so beauty—
your hollow words—
made a garden
of my heart.
Shadows
Me.
My shadow.
The cold.
The cold—
another shadow—
larger,
darker—
distinctly
yours.
Me—again.
My shadow—
gone.
Cold remains—
expands—
devours.
Loneliness
consuming?
Me—forlorn.
No shadow—
no... self?
Buried.
Burned.
Ashes.
Smoke.
Cold shadows.
No more
you—
no more
love—
no more
me.
— Cae Rivas —
The knife doesn’t answer. The orchids keep blooming. The cold remains.
We all do it—seek answers from the source of our wounding. These four poems won’t explain why. But maybe they’ll help you feel less alone in having tried.
Have you found answers in your wounds? Are we looking in the wrong places? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
If you liked this collection and one to read another poem, I gotcha:
Thank you for reading, for your time, and for being you. 😊
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You find your answers within yourself. The tree remembers the axe forgets.
Sometimes that means forgiving and moving on
Sometimes being mad about it is all you got
But you are the only person who can definitively change your outlook and your future.
Carlos this is gorgeous work