I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane. -Edgar Allan Poe
Carrying her sadness like a totem
Believing it was her only truth
Until its power was gone
–
Lost and confused
Needing a new image to embrace
A personification of a new truth
–
Unearthed, in spite of adversity,
A symbol of strength and hope
Her true identity
The timing is right
Clock strikes midnight
Hearts are aflame
All is fair game
Feeling everything
A curse or gift?
Empathy uncontrolled
Fatigue engulfs
Isolation to cease the torment
Compassion fades
Corruption wins
A regulated soul
Deterring the vampires of spirit
Fills the world with love
Extinguishing the flames
Of a callous society
A bolt of lightning
Has awoken me from
The nightmare of despair
Cloudy days
And nights without stars
No longer remain
In my illuminated mind
Turning forty (oh so old)
Some may even say vintage
–
Like songs of my youth
Now playing on classic radio stations
–
Like playing outside all day
Occasionally into the night
–
Like going to school
With only the worries of failing a test
–
Like having peers from Mexico
Unafraid to go to school in America
–
Like presuming the world
Is a safe place to live
–
Being in one’s prime
No longer seems a malediction
But a culmination
Of wondrous experiences
A ruse
To abuse
The muse
Lighting her fuse
So as not to lose
The good reviews
Left on Yahoo!(s)
(Just a little silliness for your Friday)
Born consisting of pure love
Authentic to the core
As years advanced
Purity fading evermore
–
Saturated with sorrow
Yearning to die
No hope or joy
Pleading “why?”
–
Craving answers
A private war
Coveting a mental repose
Unexpectedly, an open door
–
Petition acknowledged
Hope illuminates the ashen sky
Recovery furnishes
The wings to fly
For so long
A motif of darkness and shame
Flooded her lyrics
Now strength and radiance
Innervate her soul
Permitting only sanguine expression
In the darkness
Of despair
One can lay down
Live in the nothing
Or
One can reach out
Find the switch and flip it
Filling the room
With the light of hope
Eyes soak in
The essence of creation
Frisson through
The body
The mind
Tears flow
The overwhelming power
That is art
