Shockwave of awakening

 

I scrambled through

the shockwave of awakening.

The bomb blast damage.

Severed limbs of who I'd once been.

Memories scattered in the wings,

hopes and dreams away on the wind.

And a song drifting, a simple childhood

melody. A song of joy, in a sea of debris.

A lifeboat, a requiem to infinity.

 

Driftwood on dry land.

 

And I picked at pieces,

worn edges cut at my fingers,

but I picked up the slivers.

And I turned them over, gently.

I guided my fingers

over their burnt remains,

feeling the charred surface fall away,

to see the shine within.

The glint of future,

starlight twinkling...

 

I see the reflection of my eyes,

a smile inside a fragment of glass.

And I pick up more

to see how they feel.

 

Are they sharp, are they soft,

are they warm, are they real?

Every movement shines new light,

brings new insight. Every broken part,

a new memory, a storied heart.

And I grasped them tight.

Red seeping into tomorrow.

To see what they made me

 

feel.

 

Who was I? Was he real?

Who would I be? How do I heal?

And what do I wish to see follow?

 

I didn't want to replicate

a carbon-copy former me,

that would be a mission of futility.

So, I began to create,

to build myself a new future,

letting art take me to a better place.

Using sticky-backed plastic

and tubs of old paint,

an empty Fairy washing-up bottle,

and I flew to the moon

in the rocket I transformed it into.

 

And I looked down, to work out my place

in the grand scheme of things.

I didn't want to be a king of kings,

but a singer of others' dreams.

I want to be someone who gives,

but also, someone willing to receive.

And I know in my heart, I believe,

that I am

someone who can shed a tear

and throw some light

onto the stage of your memories.

 

But I'd need to build a better me.

One who wears a smile instead of tears of grief.

 

I took memories and I held them to the light

to shine on the intricacies,

to work out the discrepancy,

to file away redundancy

in a cabinet labelled - inadequacy.

 

I devoured their stories, and I saw

branching pathways.

Happiness to the left,

misery to the right,

and me,

growing roots in the ground.

So, I dug deep down,

sweat pouring from my brow,

dirt encrusting my feet.

And I gripped those roots tight

and pulled with all my might,

feeling my back creak

and crack under the strain.

And I started to move,

to feel

 

Free,

 

and I walked to the left,

to see what was right.