And yet,
In the wake of the ache,
There was art:
Sinister symphonies
Of slipping temporal tides
Mimed beckoning banshees,
Bellowing bygone wails—
Each screech
Stretching into a sonnet,
Every wounding whorl of whiplashing
Raucous weaving a wanton waltz
Of sorrow and sin
Into the tomb where my ticker fit;
Tick-tocking
In a river of regret, rippling relentless!
The ground,
Slick with the tears of time,
Turned treacherous beneath me
As I fell face-first further in the fissure—
Not gracefully,
But as one abandoned.
Inaffixed to the cards handed.
Limbs flailing and faith failing,
A thousand cries of why
Climaxed in a cold silence.
Pain surged—not in searing stabs,
But in a steady, opulent flood:
A tide of fire, warm and wicked,
That both consumed and carried me,
Enticing me further within
The hole I had been diggin' into me
Imploding into the gilded abyss
Of my subconsciousness,
My purpose broke promises—
Self: splintered and split—
And from the fracture came forth light—
Not soft or forgiving,
But fierce.
The secret sun's scalding allure
Luring me into a feral illumination
Forged of failure.
I touched the blaze, trembling.
It burned me still—
But beneath the pain came peace;
A bittersweet balm
Booning me hideously.
Excavating gladness in madness,
I kissed bliss
To witness this golden agony,
Cackling happly
In the cavity
Where I find hearth:
The wretched radiance wrenched
From the ruins of rebirth
Flowing intimately into me with mirth.
So this is self-worth..
trail patrol