11/10/18

 

When it beats, my world trembles, shaking in terror.

Tectonic plates of cardiac muscle smashing against their neighbours

Tugging in all different directions away from each other;

Crashing back against each other, limits of their connection tested and standing strong.

 

The meeting of two fronts-- cold and hot--

Spiraling downwards into a tornado, a helix of darkening destruction

Going down down down a path I want to leave,

But I cannot, I cannot leave this vortex,

Lest I be shredded to bits by the debris in the tornado of my mind.

 

My feet are blown to and fro, to and fro, unsteady, flickering as they flame--

By the chaotic winds of my mind, this way, that way--

Stepping Stomping Storming all over, only to corral themselves in a dead end of blackened ash

Nowhere left to go, having already walked this path before,

Hoping for something to change, knowing that the opposite is true.

 

My lips, provoked by the percussive forces of my heart, deep inside the earth,

Roar and crash onto the shore, gigantic through my mind’s spiraling occupation with itself

Not thinking of what they will hit, what they will take with them in their violent rush,

Uncomprehending of what-- of who--lies on the shore.

My thoughtless words, the waves of my untamed emotion, destroy all in their path.

 

My soul is empty, on darkling nights like this.

It is a dried up, salty ocean, nothing left to give, too harsh for life to dwell there.

It is a desert, once fertile ground become dust; rarely do scrubby plants cling to life there.

The ashes of a fire that has burnt itself out.

The last wispy bits of sea breeze crushed by oppressive summer heat inland.

 

On nights like these, it is impossible to imagine any other metaphor than this;

My nature a series of natural disasters, my soul plagued by the after-effects,

But then, in the darkest part of my night, twilight comes, and in the greying dawn,

I remember.

 

With every disastrous fire, there is a chance for new grass to grow.

I know I can build the houses of my heart to be strong, and resist the quakes

They beat to a unique rhythm, violent in their strength, fighting the empty slumber of death.

I can let the winds carry me, up and away from the spiral, if I let the change take me;

The debris is detritus, shadows seeming at substance to keep me in the darkling deep.

I know the waves have their place; they can be guided to help;

They can bridge the gap between the world my soul inhabits and

those of others, the worlds I will never truly know.

 

It is springtime, and my soul is putting down roots.

Pale, thin tendrils curve and carve into the soil; with time they will grow.

Waves lap at the shore, a gentle sound, rocking my chaotic mind into sleep.

My fiery feet travel far and wide, spreading not October flame, but budding flowers.

The world beneath my feet shifts, and reminds me that naught is dead inside me.

This earth’s heart still beats ferociously,

In the light of day I can see the beauty in the fight to be alive.