#makingitbetter
We are not really broken
until we are broken
and then we mend
and break again
until our bones
become smashed
to smithereens
mapped into tiny lines
and cracks
with some darkness
in between
white matter, crushed
into jigsaw pieces,
laden with blood, with spit, with silt
until the despair
that fear releases
interacts with self-blame
and guilt
And how they weigh upon us,
these layers of pain
like heavy blankets
on our contours, in the dark
the maze of our pasts
thick upon us
as we strive to envision
a spark
perhaps just a tiny glowing,
at first, a barely felt
shadow of light
a glimmer, a whisper of
knowing,
a drive urging us on
to fight
and all of our minerals
rub off in sparkling crystals
as we brush up
against the walls
of that ever-blackened tunnel
as we stumble
and steady the fall
feeling a subterranean rumble
a shifting of perspective
as we battle questions,
spinning thick
into the whirlpool of our yearning
into molten metals, slick
We might think we can snap
with the ease
of a lonely brittle star
that tomorrow
could be a tribute,
in lacerations
to the last trace
of who we are
but it can happen, as we
sit upon, plan the edge
of our last breath
deep, subtle beats
of truth rise up
to repel the scent
of death
and, in pulses of light
it drifts
bends in willowy arcs
upon our soul it trips
******* light out
from the dark
and all the sharpened hooks
that kept us chained
to the abyss
are released as
we break free
into heaven's rolling kiss
feeling the flutters
of a new, kind breeze upon our skin
as Life's vast impulse
courses through us
and simply wins
and the only demise
we're mourning
is the death of
of a dormancy,
a resistance to again
receive and give
as we embrace
those little, precious instincts
that tell us to keep on
and choose
to live
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC