A poem in free verse
I cannot stretch my mind to find the cure,
In as far,
As I cannot stretch enough my muscles,
I can’t even carry my own weight,
Lest attempt the burden and trouble,
That I drag on my heels,
These sinews are strained,
Uncooperative, stubborn, fickle,
Beaten up and corrupted from years of abuse,
For excess, or success,
Battling hurdles in life’s race,
Toppling cones of some description,
Through the hazy morning smoke clouds,
Too jaded to escape,
Pale and sickly green,
Flinching at the thought,
Of trying to be normal,
A pain beyond tears,
That falls as locusts in the heart,
A plague to purge any sense of self,
That might have existed,
To the ripples of Phoenix wings,
Beating, but not beaten,
Fire dances from the void,
To see the door,
Through fight and focus,
Climbing out through the screen,
To the rolling hills and mist,
Beyond the limits of the past,
Maybe, of the future…
Certainly, of the future… one day,
From ash piles, to snow capped summits,
Where the air is clear and nourishing,
The crackle of ice beneath surer feet,
The numbing of fingers, which draws you to their existence,
The ever present, ever quiet,
Working away for your benefit,
Crystalline kisses from the sky,
Which melt away in spring,
To celebrations,
Of rushing rivers,
Circular,
Ashen skin, and back to ashes,
On the wind,
We drift on unobtainable vapours,
Disappearing in the air,
As breath, free from the lung,
Grasping the moment,
To snatch space with empty hands,
Jumping for dreams,
To land on legs which give way,
Wounds below the surface,
Muscle, tendon, bone,
Throbbing thoughts process,
Through the beating heart,
Of the drummers tempo,
Counting down time,
Mere mortals cannot live in the clouds,
The crack of thunder,
The flash of reality,
From mountain peaks, to peaking early,
Let down by fibres of being,
Being of fibres, torn and tender,
Is my body a prison?
– For that boy,
Who cartwheeled atop joy and laughter,
The cheek to think he could rebel against,
That which catches us all;
The fall.
I’ve decided to try something different and include a reading of ‘The Fall’.
I felt quite emotional reading this aloud, and that may present in my voice.
Once I had finished, my partner asked me if I was feeling sensitive, seeing my eyes glossed and watery.
I said, I’m fine, of course, the chlorine from the pool got in my eyes, since I had my morning swim without goggles.
That’s true.
I’m not sure which is truer.
Original poem by © Darius the Mate
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Playing with Words
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