Thursday, 11 July 2024

In stories of imaginary dragons

 


I leave behind debris

of a silent hurricane.

The pain I held inside me

The screams disguised as sighs

now litter these streets

in the plights of fallen trees.

Gaping, yawning holes shouting why

and street signs, bent out of shape

pointing at the sky.

As if blaming the clouds in spite.

 

That rage tore away at my atoms

and scattered them into dust.

I was just a husk,

a fragile shell of mistrust.

No love. No hope. No worth.

I combined with the clouds

and rained down from above.

The crowds wailed,

as hailstones of my internalised moans

clattered the ground.

A rhythmic pounding sound, an unearthly groan.

 

The imaginary shadows grew deeper

I sunk into their dull interior,

where they taught me.

The thoughts caught in my throat,

didn't need to be cut free.

I didn't need to bleed to be me.

All of the insecurities I used to feed on,

I just needed to air them, share them,

in stories of imaginary dragons.

 

The pain within grew wings,

scaly reptile skin

that took to the winds,

looking down on a world

and realising that strain was universal.

We all have our own dragons

surging through our veins,

urging to take to the air.

Our Internalized pains.

 

See the beauty.

No need to destroy,

destruction breeds insanity,

I seed the fields with joy.

So unreal when instead of hurt

we rain down love. So much hope to feel.

So, take my heart

in liquid state, and bathe away

the stains, straining the hate

you wish to cleanse away.

Hate it's just a misguided trait.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love & Poetry 
 
Kyle
 

 

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