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
Tag: writing
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
Two voices
One body
Battling for control
One to live
The other to die
In the arena of the mind
Two voices will enter
Only one will survive
I am not a victim
Of my circumstances
I am a warrior
Losing a battle
Bleeding out
From my wounded soul
I am no martyr
I am merely one
Who will fight
To the death
Even if
It shall be my own
Mortal elation
Lust of loins
Anguish of mind
The poet’s soul
Rips through
The body
A bloody pen
Fashioning a symphony
Of impassioned prose
The poet
A composer of
Profound inspiration
B.A. Wilcox © 