Beyond the Fall

That Little Breeze

I sat a while blind,
Deaf, numb, mute.
Killed by my own heart.

Heavy air on summers days
Pushed sweat out the pores
In the still air, I can’t feel its presence

Keeping me clinging on, I know
I need to move, and I do, almost.
The sweltering, the weight, too much!

Stand and walk! In that instance,
The faintest breeze brushes the droplets
Formed through my skin to save my life

Relieving, releasing, comforting,
Wakening my senses
The touch, of nothing I can see, pushing against me

Run, perhaps soon, so this breeze grows stronger
To hear shushing, limbs pulsing blood
Open my mouth and sing, or maybe scream –

~IW~

 

Price Tags

I know you see me, on the other side of our oblivion.
Curiosity knows no bounds, and though we put ourselves aside to walk another day without sight, we still wish to know.

Inside the dark, under the covers of your eyes I shift passed your view and you push my image aside answering to the voices you hear full well.
But those ones in your head? Like mine? The sounding echo off the wall between your spirit and mine, that never needed to be built except for preservation of sanity.

Tell me my dear, are you sane now?
Are you content? I know you are. I understand this sanity as one day passes to the next, as normality drives you mad.
It is what you wanted isn’t it?

Isn’t it?
To be content. To be sane. To be somehow normal and live a normal life.

To be happy.

Are you happy without answering to my voice? Does your heart race as fast as your despair consumes you? Does confusion darken your horizon as deeply as epiphany emblazons your truth? Does passion swell inside your soul as it does inside your garments? Is your sword held at the ready as tightly as your will and lack thereof is held at guard?

The choices we make do not always come with the price tag attached.

IW

The Dream

There is a way we find our stance
Not in the dusk nor dawn
In open plains nor mountain tops
In oceans roar nor forests call

There is a way we find our space
Our place, our peace, our grace
In days, in weeks, in years that pass
In minutes, seconds, still we breathe

No ones face, nor paths we trace
No words wise and serene
Not in the song, the dancers step
Nor the artists dream

It’s simply, just,
In ‘we’ not ‘me’.

~IW~