Dancing with the Flame
By
Jamieson Wolf
Third collected works of
poetry * 212 pages
Author Bio:
Jamieson has been writing since a young
age when he realized he could be writing instead of paying attention
in school. Since then, he has created many worlds in which to live
his fantasies and live out his dreams.
He is a Number One Best Selling Author
(He likes to tell people that a lot) and writes in many different
genre’s. Jamieson is also an accomplished artist. He works in
mixed media, charcoal and pastels. He is also something of an amateur
photographer, a poet and graphic designer.
Social Media Links:
Website: www.jamiesonwolf.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jamiesonwolf
Twitter: www.twitter.com/jamiesonwolf
Blurb:
Following
the Number One Best Sellers, Talking to the Sky and Talking with the
Earth, Dancing with the Flame contains poems that are part memoir and
part journey towards self-love.
They
are Wolf’s attempt to not only find balance but to love all parts
of himself, even those that are most difficult to love.
They
are a testament to the strength of the human spirit. The poems show
us that whatever life throws at us, with courage anything is
possible.
With
unflinching honesty, Wolf talks about disease, sexuality, physical
disability and the healing power of love.
Buy Links:
Excerpt:
What
I Had Become
When
the New Year began,
I
looked into the mirror.
I saw
a reflection of myself
from
long ago. I was
lying
on a bed, weak,
my
whole world changed.
I
watched as my reflection
lifted
a hand and beckoned to me.
“Come
on.”
He
said.
I
touched a hand to the glass
and it
was as if
there
was no glass there.
The
veil between the present
and
the past was thin.
I
stepped through the mirror
and
found myself in a place
that I
remembered but fought
so
hard to forget.
It was
dark and there was only
one
small light in the room.
Even
so, by that light I saw
who I
used to be lying
on the
bed, my past self,
my
other self. He regarded me,
and I
looked at him.
I
remembered that day,
how
the night before the New Year
my
life had changed forever,
never
to be the same again.
I knew
just how he was feeling
as I
had been him, he had been me.
He was
weak and disoriented,
unable
to walk very well at all,
his
whole world seeming to
move
around him, unable to keep still.
He
regarded me with tired eyes,
the
fear in them so total.
He
knew that something was wrong.
“You
forgot about me.”
He
said.
“You
forgot our anniversary.”
It was
true. I had forgotten.
Every
year since that day,
I
always wondered if this
would
be the year that it happened,
the
year where I lost control
of my
body once more.
For a
while, I lived in fear
of
December 31st,
of who I had been
and of
what I had become on that day.
“I’m
sorry,”
I
said.
“I
did forget. I did forget you.”
“Why?”
He
asked.
“Because
I left you behind. Because I’m so much stronger now. So much
happier.”
He
regarded me with a blank expression,
the
fear increasing in his eyes until
they
were full of tears.
“I
don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so afraid.”
“I
know,”
I said
kindly.
I sat
on the bed beside him and took his hand
in my
own. It was cool and sweaty and
I
remembered how warm I’d been,
how
nothing had felt right,
and
how my own body had turned against me.
“You’ll
have to be strong,”
I
said.
“There
is a lot more pain coming, but you’ll have to be stronger than
you’ve ever been. Can you do that for me?”
“I
don’t know how.”
“You
don’t, but you’ll learn. There will come a moment when you’ll
want to quit, where you’ll want to give up and head towards the
darkness. But I promise you, good times are coming.”
He
looked at me with such
an
open expression, one of yearning
for
something better. I remembered
wearing
that look, wishing and hoping
so
fiercely that it was painful.
“Okay,”
he
said.
“Okay.”
I
heard my partner calling me from
the
other side of the mirror,
his
deep voice making the liquid glass
move
in ripples. I took one last look
at who
I used to be and patted his hand,
leaned
forward to kiss him on the forehead.
“I
have to go now.”
“I
know you do. Don’t forget me, okay?”
“I
won’t, I promise.”
With
that, I stood and moved towards the glass.
When I
stepped through the glass,
I left
behind what I had been
and
into what I had
become.
No comments:
Post a Comment