The heart pumps hard.

With veins that run with the “rains” of tears.

Like K-Dot, they hope to hear a shout out from heaven

These demons trap them, so loud they drown in the blood of Jesus.

They run, smash into an overwhelming hope for desire.  It’s there, but only a cool fire.

 

It is a strong desire…But what we don’t realize is that it’s in our minds as well.

Tough love.  A power.  Strong enough that the smiles pirouette a shadow and silhouette of the highest point of understanding.  This thunder is as loud as you.

It is a known fact.  Sometimes the most loud of these is saying nothing at all.

 

That’s why it’s always there…It seems to be the only thing that’s worth thinking about; the only thing worth living for…

 

What happens when we deny that desire?  And suppress the need and want of love… You feel as though you can’t breathe… It’s almost as if the person you LOVE loses their life, you’d spend the rest of your life searching for air so they could breathe, again.  But they’d breathe in you.

 

Because you’d live in them.

Love was that important.

LOVE was that strong a desire…

 

And in the spirit of the ultimate search.

In this silence we lose sight of any gain. 

Only to digress that there was no intention of pain.

So I speak, why?

So we try.

It’s the balance between consciousness.

It’s a challenge.

 

I know you very well.

I can tell.

In your heart you are scared.

Just as Bey, I hope I’m spared.

But I can save you, just as He saved me.

 

Long were the days of pain you spent within these walls and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from the pain and the aloneness without regret?

Truth is, you are the physician

In passing, we gain appearance

Though the night still needs the day

The job of light is to eliminate the darkness

But without that darkness, light would not exist

Would it even be said that one cannot exist without the other…

 

So must you love, and experience pain

 

Be reminded that you are the physician.

 

Your heart becomes a tree, and the pain the heavy-laden fruit

You so despise

But give out as a prize

To those in demise

Because you hurt

 

But they too, in fact have hurt

And should not their fruit be protected with the hardest shell

That can still fracture

And have been fractured

 

You are the physician

 

No strangers, to us, are you

Nor are you among us, we know.

 

Our pain may be self-chosen

But it is not self-inflicted

There is a difference

 

Do you even cry?

 

We accept the seasons that pass

Just as we should accept the pain

Because we are the physicians

 

Do we not write when our emotion has found our thoughts?

Those thoughts then take on words.

So does your pain take on its own emotion?

But do not be saddened, this is not the end for you

 

Your pain shapes and molds you

Regardless of the fractures

Of the cuts and scrapes and maddening screams

 

You are the physician

Drink your potion and heal your sick self, yes.

 

But turn to Him, first.