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oOo
Bright lights do not mark the way home;
They blind, though my sight is already faded,
And along I drift, slowly and surely,
Steadily towards the voices,
Leaving behind the comfort of a simple life.
Back into the turmoil and tumult
Because in this still home
There is something missing.
Adrift in the light,
I call out, though I don't know the voice which answers
Nor if it - one of many - can be relied on
Whether its words are marked by the scars of the chaos that marred me,
Or incomplete, as I strive not to be - a futile endeavour, for I was never assembled whole -
Such ambitions are aspirations that harm
Not ego - though that too - but foundation.
Can something break when it was never whole?
If it was incomplete - imperfect - flawed to the core,
is it right to ascribe it as in need
of fixing?
It would be easier to scrap it.
Cast it aside, and let it drift off into nothing -
Painless, too -
Though that ache, in its madness, grinds and grounds
Maybe if I am loud enough, the voices will quiet
Though they never will.
They are - idle reminders
Both of my value, and lack thereof -
The chorus that soundtracks this descent into familiar emptiness
Where rats and wolves and giants linger and lurk and sleep
And my pieces lay, quiet too,
Those shards I am afraid to wake - what if I am dreaming? -
Though they already remind me
That I am broke, and broken.
Painful though they are,
The lights never fade,
Adrift though they keep me,
Blind I will stay.
I don't know to which dark shores
these darker currents will take me.
Somewhere quiet, I hope,
And away,
So I can be broken
- that's okay -
Not a bother, or burden,
though that is a big ask,
and the tides never answer.
The bright lights do not lead home.
They mark the paths I may follow - walk - drift
fall - sink - swim - whichever the darkness permits,
for however long I can hold my breath,
That is all I can do - broken as I am - let go.
Exhale,
and float,
and fall,
and wait.
oOo
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 9 kB
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