It begins with a tragic sigh
A sudden cool breeze
Tortuous cold fog
Leaving you unable to see

After a while, you stare at the broken pieces
Your shadow shattered on the floor
Tears falling one by one
You wait for someone to knock at the door

Days pass by, while you sit and rot
Too scared to open your eyes
You keep the curtains closed
You question, “Time flies?”

But then on a very subtle day
You shake your head and get up
It starts with taking a deep breath
Feeling that air in your body, down your lungs

You walk to the kitchen, slow and steady
And make some coffee for yourself
Still confused but something lights up inside you
You pick up and read the book buried on the shelf

It seems like you have to start from the beginning
Back from when you were just a kid
Pushed into this cruel world to “live”
Your whole life looks like a dark pyramid

You no longer wait for that knock
You stop longing for that one hug
You give up on the idea of being “saved”
So you ponder and let it go with a soft shrug

Whatever meant the most to you
Sounds like a stupid idea now
All that grief you were holding within
Seems like a television picture or a show
And this is how you know
This is the art of letting go

Scream! Scream! Scream! The cardinal rule of silence. Scream! The next cardinal rule of silence.

On words aching for a voice, a generous gaze be fixed. Lend a ray of light and shine on shadowed corners where thoughts have cowered. Forsake me not in unsacred matrimony of stagnation and decay, lest, I be not I. For voice not be voice which breaks when it disguise unmasks. Such is life.

Into the fabled lands of golden chance, my car rode my soul, glittered rot and creaking joints, not I, but my ferry for this diaspora unbidden, for one, but one quest—****** tomorrow from its tree and fill the pockets of whose vines to the roots with whom I share.

For it gives them so much pleasure, to measure worth with what gift is on a hand, failing to see its callused back. Faces neither painted with hardened sweat and spit, nor eyes crafted with sight. Their comfort a measuring stick of whatever weaves the blood. It thickens with the sun and diluted in the cold, worse still, vapid in trying times.

Pictures are nothing like my reality, for no hope feel I, no shores see I in this sea indifferent to drifters, no reasons have I to follow behind the whims of my feet. In solitude, in its warmth, I bathe, than nestle in the wintry arms of feigned togetherness. Such a dear friend loneliness is, when it holds out its hand and speak with profane eloquence.

Until you set your fear free, then walk away you cannot. Until you walk away, then find who you are you cannot. Until you find who you are, then grasp freedom you cannot.
So note to self—be not afraid. So with all mustered fire; let go. Let go. Let go of fear.  Be done with people who see you as Wells Fargo. Let go. Let go. Let go of thankless gratitude.
My compassion will not bend their will anymore than they can bend their own, for theirs is absolute.

Today, I’m an outcast cast away to distant shores by my need and my compassion for my blood so now I must reflect on how much of myself remains. I’ve grown arcane. How much of myself I have given to the twilight and what of me remains.

Yet, I’m torn between love that I’m nothing without and love no more and live.