all my fears and agonies are satiated
performed like magic
from the moon, to the biggest star of all
with all the time in between
a steady hand makes it way across the sea
waves roll in white and black shadows
i have several thoughts and honest assessments for you to consider with this poem. i think you have a tendency to stray. and i know it's hard but ending this about halfway would make this piece much tighter and more defined. as it is, the last half tumbles, is less rhythmic, jarring when the first half's imagery and emotion is taken into context.
i thought this ended perfectly at "performed like magic"; also, consider line-breaking as i've suggested? that's how i read it out to myself, anyhow. my other suggestion was to keep the next four lines but perhaps bunch them together as an ending strophe, and tinker with the syntax/rhythm/flow etc. above is the first combination that came to mind; obviously, there are a million and one ways to do it, and no one way is ever the best. but, y'know, just thoughts to ponder, right? i don't give these suggestions out anymore but i thought i would with you, okay? alrighty then.
with that out of the way, i enjoy your voice in this poem. it's very open to possibilities, very dreamlike and impassioned yet controlled.
this piece says a lot about you as a person, how you define things, how you philosophise your environment. in fact, i got a whiff of schroedinger's cat in this, what with the black and white and grey cat imagery; am i right in my supposition?
to me, dreams and paintings are co-joined in a way; both have seeds and a fermenting stage until full bloom happens, and then this cycle begins again. this is what you show to me, i guess, on a subconscious, emotive level.
anyway, i had a million other things to say but i've forgotten. honestly. haha. not enough sleep, i think.
If one considers the title indicative of the meaning here, then I'll assume this is the speaker talking of her idea of peace, or rather what brings her peace.
I see a woman lying asleep, dreaming, in her mind she stands before a door and enters through it.
"I begin when I am asleep" I love this line. I feel like I'm about to hear some dramatic music in the background, I don't know why.
Then we're back to the woman, through the door now opening a window to let in... to let in what? Fresh air, new things. To let out what? The stale air, the old things.
"I start with a frame" I see the frame of a canvas, the frame to begin creating a tapestry. Either way, this is strictly you writing your life into the piece, or can act as a metaphor for a start.
Ah, yes. What are these thoughts? Showers and roses. This is the past, no? Things that smell good, things that we must wash from ourselves. But no, that's not it. Is this stanza rose-colored lenses in other words?
Exploration of oneself. Masturbation. Mental, physical. He and she. Yes, exploring oneself through the effect on others. Exploring oneself through his lips. Those eyes, those damned eyes and how they look at you. All the eyes that see you in ways you could never see yourself. How you love? Or is this stanza. Is this someone other than the speaker? Who speaks of love? Love is exploration.
That little boy, a child you care about. A child who was in danger, but was spared. You attribute it to the universe. In almost losing this precious thing, those past thoughts, those old ideas, those things for the window to let out are gone, are vanquished. The spared life of this young creature has renewed the speaker. Why attribute it to the will of the universe? From an existentialist viewpoint, one sees nothing more than a fortunate creature who was not taken by the absurd this time. The speaker then expresses an idea of place, or what should and should not be. The speaker shows a willingness to bow to something unknown.
So is it like magic, or like being washed clean of the things before.
The biggest star of all. This is something to question. This stanza has no meaning to me. These are things the speaker is cleansed of "like magic", perhaps.
The hand remaining steady despite the waves and the turbulence of the sea. Something that can not be stopped, something that denies the forces of nature. Something unconcerned about the black and the white, the false dichotomies of the world.
The hand perhaps causes a fear.
"TRUE", brilliant, emphasizing that it is more important that this fear was real, was not uncertain, was something to actually fear. It brings the speaker to a new low.
"wept for the devastation", the speaker's devastation, the devastation of the world around, the devastation brought fourth by the thing feared. Then...
"dined with my own life ending" here we may consider that the devastation is something bringing an end to what the speaker is comfortable with. The steady hand? The universe? Something unspoken?
The idea of silver ware and the "fine linen napkin" suggests that all this devastation is happening on a sophisticated or beautiful backdrop. Or perhaps dining despite one's own life ending shows a bravery, a resolve to stand up despite the oncoming destruction.
Back to the woman waking up. "dawning of the light/to/consciousness" this basically seems like you are explaining the metaphor of "dawning light" here. Dawning light being an awakening, that is a realization, an idea, an epiphany, new found knowledge and truth. A beginning.
This is a weak stanza. Now you're just lecturing. Poetry without imagery is fine (though you have plenty in this), but here you lecture more than show or express. Since there's a lot of beginnings in this, we can figure that the purpose of this new start for the speaker is "productivity", accomplishing something, some things.
Many males for the one female. Relating personal life and some form of reality. I fail to find the point in this stanza.
Beginning again. When the skin dries out (becomes old, used), the speaker starts with a new medium, watercolor. Watercolor is also the (not quite so) clever way of simulating the idea of moisturizing the dry skin (the old medium).
There is a lot of imagery and words relating to beginnings and some things relating to endings.
I get the impression then that the speaker is talking of finding some sort of peace. This peace is a new beginning to the speaker's life, a change.
The splitting up of "silver" and "ware". I still don't know why.
The very last line. Some people consider those important, and you did an excellent job with your last line. It's clever enough and expresses the point the entire poem was getting at well. When things get old, dry, bothersome, it's time for a change, a renewal.
I would have given this poem much more thought, but you demanded an immediate feedback from me, so apologies for the poor structure, grammar, and possibly inaccurate guesses at meaning. I didn't bother to mention your grammar or spelling errors. You're welcome.