Alone-ness.
Swimming the night lake.
Shallow and cold, fingers scrape the pebbles of ice.
Yet, I will swim.
It isn't so much the heart-wrench of one facet;
Rather it moves in noxious, choking vapor across many faces that smile steamily at you, all together.
Fumes that eviscerate the will and clamp mud blocks on slogging feet.
Then from nowhere, the place in your outer consciousness,
the projectile and shards fire at your soul and hit it like a sack.
The burst comes on impact and the spirit flows out like a drizzling river of
blood, pain and ooze effervescing from the place where solace resides.
Then there is no more. I know this.
I know that this is life.
I know that this is this life.
I know that this is life and the life in which we are on our own.
Grace knew it; they treated her "like a guest."
They are not equipped to make the promises real.
In their world, you must step quietly, or they will show you how little you are missed when gone.
Their frozen-ness does not shake the heart of those they have ensnared And like tin soldiers in a row,
those you once knew, those who lived in profound depths with you,
no longer remember. This is the part of them that does not recognize you anymore.
Like a drop of water on the desert, their tears fall in breaking voice,
but no nourishment comes forth.
The drop does not crack the floor of dry sand,
it is absorbed and forgotten in a finite second, a stroke of the clock's hand.
No more a thought than that held by the wind as it blows a leaf from the autumned tree.
The leaf once struggled, broke its casing bonds, and lived through the heat and torrent of summer rains.
Yet, in an emotionless breath, its life is snuffed.
You are that memory,
Your efficacy and legacy are just that temporary,
they are just that easily shed.
In the vacuous lie and the shallow pool of so-called fraternity
you dive and smash, break and crumple.
You are a mirror without silvering, a shadow in the moonlight.
I miss them and hope they know that I am still here.
I am whom I say I am.
No one need fear the reciprocity of vengeance or the forgetting of my words.
No one need fear the reciprocity of vengeance or the forgetting of my words.
I will not return apathy. It shall not poison.
You always have a home, here. May you never know what transpires in my heart.
For as much as it now sears the soft bag that holds my beating essence,
it will not conquer and vanquish what I have to be in order to find my way.
That you will always see, even if I cannot see you.
I will sense your smile of dismissal and smile back at you with an open heart.
I hope they know I am the same. They are beings of my soul and
I miss the brush of fur in that spins slowly around to the twilight slip into dreams.
Home.
I shall find you again, soon.
-G.
