So I’m trying to post more often, hopefully 2016 will be a bit better for that. Here’s a poem, and I’ll go ahead and apologize for it being mopey as all hell.
Before, I was happy.
My mind was tacit because my heart was content.
I was unafraid and untroubled.
Now I wonder.
My mind is racing around my screaming, wailing heart.
I am afraid of what it shrieks,
And I am troubled by what it means.
I listen to the music to drown out the cries,
And find that the words speak the same message,
Only more gently.
I still feel the fire of a shattered thought,
I still know the heat of an embarrassed blush,
The needle-sting of an unknowing pain inflicted and received
But I know that now I feel the sharp cut of icy glass
And the cold so deep it warms the soul;
The remnants of my foolish dive into the winter sea of emotions.
Now I ask the voices who dare to voice life’s miseries
To drown mine in their own.
I call upon the low, humming baselines
And the serenading voices who sing to someone else
To draw the rotting blood from a dying vein.
I have frozen the kingdom around me,
The blizzard of a paralytic mind.
I live as the lone survivor,
Playing with the crystal silhouettes I have made.
I dare not bring a living, breathing mind into this icy castle,
I fear the cold and know it better than the warm breeze,
Which carried the smoke I so hid from myself.
I fear too the blood-heat of another heart,
Because it might melt the still, icy perfection
Within which I have hidden.
The ice is cold to repel a probing touch,
But still a crystal-clear chrysalis to watch the warmer world.
And yet I feel a warm breath on the back of my neck;
Someone has touched the glass over my heart,
And melted away just enough to let me feel their presence.
Why do you venture into this winter,
This polar chill?
You have no reason.
The real heart and mind are in the castle’s keep,
In a glass room with a lock so frozen that only fire
Can break it.
Still you have taken a step through the frigid gate,
And set the torches alight.
I bid you well,
But dare not hope;
For the heart is frostbitten.
It has curled into itself in rotting agony,
And with each layer of ice and glass it seems more aflame.
I fear that in your journey you will see too much,
Will know what lies therein,
And be repulsed.
I ask of the songs to hold back the bitterness,
But of you I ask only that you not become another glassy doll
For a cold, lonely mind
Thanks. Again, sorry it’s beyond mopey. And long. Looking back, that’s a really long poem. Deal with it, it’s my blog.
The Nightingale sings you to your sleep.