Epics of Birds

-

 Feelings slip through my fingers

Slicked satin ribbons

Remaining tendrils of the mind

Coils like writhing snakes

The gentle knit unwinding as I pull

Never a painless motion

Tugging strands of what remains

What is left

That holds it all together

Falling down to me

As I stare in disbelief 

Seeing the leaving

Of all I thought left of me

I look up

To the self induced destruction

Creeping up

Rotting the supports


Until I am left in the center of it all


Surrounded by the cinder of the fires I lit to keep myself alive

The bodies amassed while fighting for my life

Smoldering melt of the chains I was forced to forge

The smoke burning my nose and eyes

I claw my own nails into the soft flesh of the throat

Tearing it open to seek some relief

Of the ash of past regrets resting there

Choking on the things I left unsaid

Or the things I was afraid to say

They've been there so long I have forgotten

I hit my own knees with the crushing weight

Of my own quietly committed sins


Where do I go from here


At a crossroad of remaining

And moving forward

In a place of ability for profound change

The fear still as debilitating

As when it was instilled


I will move forward

No matter the broken bits of glass that find their way into my shins

No matter the broken bit of myself that attempt to keep me there

I will move forward in my brokenness 

No matter the silence from the heavens 

No matter the actions of the past

As I do not need your forgiveness

I only need my own

As I do not need your pity

I have my own crosses to bare

Empty words of concern

Have no weight in my heart


Upon shaking knees and my own two feet I shall move

With a will of my own

As I belong to no one and nothing but myself

I am as I am and will always be

The only one who will ending up killing me

Is one and of myself

I have no reason to feel the fear of man

When I myself am much more a terror

Hell has not nearly a fury

Compared to the way my heart rages




Comments

  1. Look upApril 22, 2024 at 10:50 AM

    To be a fine wine....

    In the vineyard of life, The Son kisses the grapes,
    We endure the weight of tribulations, the pressing of fate.
    Our skins bruised, our essence released,
    The sweet and the bitter, both blending in peace.

    Fermenting in darkness, we transform and refine,
    A symphony of flavors, aged gracefully in time.

    So, fear not the crushing, the trials that come your way,
    They too shall pass in time and decay.
    To be a fine wine, you first must be crushed,
    Embrace the process, I fear it is something we all must.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Anecdote

-
I look back into the void and see a set of eyes looking back Reflecting parts of myself back I had long laid to rest As I no longer feel the need to hide Ineffable is not even close to the word that I feel accurately articulates the way I feel Not lightning  Nor thunder Not flashing Nor light Just warmth.  Like the first real ray of sun cresting the mountain after a long winter, Just subtle wind, winding change, snaking its way through the folds of my own inter-workings Quiet and calm A voice comes through Changing of waves that interlink in a way two long lost puzzle pieces connect You, the final piece of the mosaic, prized, that an artisan has searched high and low for I look forward, seeing myself reflected back in the figure of another How striking, how odd, to feel myself mirrored, How I may be able to speak and be understood, not simply listened to like a record on repeat, How is it possible I come across someone who so closely mirrors the walk I've tread, How have I not...
Read more

Lineal

-
 "Why is it that grief cannot be a straight forward path?" I can't seem to comprehend  An arrow, shot from the bend of a bow is direct, Piercing, pulling, tearing, Slicing its way cleanly from one side to the other of my soul, Just like the day I lost you. What bitter games do the gods play, Is it to their delight to watch me find my way around and around with it? The same way we may observe a dog chasing it's own tail, A silly thing to watch them catch it, only for them to realize it was attached to themselves all along. I can't escape the loss, just like an appendage I feel I've lost, the ghost of sensations that no longer I am able to feel. I grieve an ever distant growing image of you. Like a photograph carefully preserved. I see the corners of your mouth turned up, the way your teeth dance across your lower lip, Hair ruffled in the way only my fingers could've been the cause of. Like the photo that graces the front of an end of life service pamphlet, ...
Read more

Origins

-
 The Deep South, hot, humid and unforgiving, You can see it etched in the faces of those born here, In the face of the farmer, who worked beneath his father and the one before, In the face of the pastor, proclaiming his faith and preaching it out upon his weary congregation, In the face of the grocery store clerk, emptying buggies, greeting each person they meet, In the face of the hardened labor hand, working hard so the mother of his children at home doesn't have to, I see it in myself, In every mirror that hangs in these halls, The lines etched in the same places,  Those of worry, those of fear, those of disparity,  Those of laughter shared, smiles that never quite faded,  This land is tough, so is this town, Each and every one that comes and goes, Yet, it feels so foreign to me. My hands are no longer calloused and rough, The skin on my back has softened, My skin glows white like the moon, Instead of reflecting a tan from the hot summer sun, I am from this red cl...
Read more