Catharsis

 

I scream

to the heavens,

to the clouds, to the moon.

I whisper to the stars,

all the vast galaxies between,

to the whole universe

in front of me:

 

“Take my pain.”

 

I fall to my knees

in the falling rain,

racing

with the tears

streaming down

my cheeks.

Screaming,

 

“Am I beyond saving?”

 

Where is the grace?

Where are the miracles?

Where is the loving kiss placed

upon this human face?

 

“I thought you were merciful?”

 

Water on ink,

a lie printed paper-thin.

Puddles of grey fall at my feet.

“Take me,” I cross myself,

as everyone ever crossed me,

and then I throw

that cross to the floor,

so I have no cross to bear.

  

Is this my destiny,

to live in a flash?

A lightning strike,

here, then a blast,

and

nothing.

 

If that is what you wish,

this world is cruel and unkind,

and I don't belong.

 

So I'll make it belong to me.

 

I'll write my own destiny.

 

And inside, I feel good.

 

For I've spilled my soul

into my words...

Run

 

And your head

is like

a windswept plain.

 

On the horizon

a threat of rain.

 

You wish

to run and run,

for pain is no fun

and fear leaves a stain.

 

But right here

in the blistering sun

you are blinded,

as streaming tears

run and run.

But behind heavy,

stinging eyes,

you feel something

unearthed.

 

You want to run and run.

 

And the world

is a loaded gun,

always pointed

at your head.

 

And you want to run.

And run and run.

 

Somewhere far away.

Far from

the threat of pain,

the threat of rain.

 

But you know

this world holds

no shelter

from the strain within.

 

And you want to feel

the rushing pavements,

the puddles exploding

as your weighted soul

meets the solid ground.

 

And you want to run and run.

 

Escape sounds like the answer,

it sure sounds better than being

ground under the soles of someone.

 

And you put one foot in front of the other.

 

And you pound on the ground.

And the first steps feel good.

 

You realise

the rain has come,

and you run into the flood,

feeling the surge of lifeblood

flow over you.

 

And you want to run,

not to escape,

but to feel again.

New-born tears

 

The man paces

outside, cigarette

smoke weaves

past the no smoking sign;

the butts on the ground

say otherwise.

 

He smiles through the masculine mask,

showing a glimpse of fear and hope,

and joyful femininity,

as he lets it

all slip to the ground.

 

And stamps out the past.

 

The other men doing the same.

 

Back and forward they dance.

Hammer beating in his chest,

startling the butterflies in his

stomach, bursting with pride.

 

But right now

it feels like a panic attack

about to hit full stride.

 

And in a single step,

he walks into the future.

 

The agonizing scream, primal echoes,

bearing down on the young woman.

And the man enters and holds her hand,

kissing her forehead, whispering futures,

that he will be there till the day

the sun burns away.

 

 

 

And down the hall, up a stairway,

an old man passes away, silently.

 

A single gasp, then

the daylight fades from his eyes.

 

He had finally grasped that

his time had been his own,

and he saw the stories he'd sown

in the hearts of those

he had known - flowerbed

memories that would always bloom.

 

And the smile sat till the last.

 

 

Back in maternity,

newborn tears

drip to the ground,

an echo ringing through

the corridors of time. Hope.

 

 

Along another hall, a young man

is fighting his inner demons,

they are winning.

 

Agonising scream piercing

the air, primal fear,

the voices he hears

making his battlefield mind

explode in defeat.

 

 

 

And outside a woman sits.

Bad news hangs heavy,

clouds into which she could hide.

 

But she pulls them apart,

letting the sunshine hold her tight.

 

And the friend at her side sits in silence,

just holding her hand, as she holds back

her own tears.

 

 

Newborn eyes blink in

the sunlight,

feeling its heat

for the first time.

 

Naked and set up

on a new life.

 

The mother lies in her eyes,

sadness mixed with joy,

fear with happiness.

 

The midwife hands

a bundle of stories

into their arms…

 

The first one already written.