The wounds sneak up slowly.
The blade and the belt catch you unaware,
On the precipice of the cliff
And the free fall into the churning tides.
.
You don’t recognize the relief you seek.
Is it from the intense sting of your welts?
Or from the powerful current you can never take on?
Or from the pointed rocks that tempt you to end it all….

Doors creaked open to azure skies
Whorls of clouds fading out of the sun
Last seeds of pain dissolve in passing winds
A little bit of hope ….
A volley of words,
A spur of grimaces,
A wisecrack or two,
A stream of unshed tears.
They were her reluctant weapons,
Inclined to pierce them both.
Every other day and every other night.
No bloodshed. No mortal wounds.
Yet her life drained out.
Nursing a self-inflicted bruise,
She tried to hold on…
But he kept slipping away
Like grains of golden sand.
Like leaves in autumn winds.
It was time
To battle for trust,
To fight and not let go,
To place her faith back in him,
To put a stopper to misunderstandings,
To believe in his love than her nightmares.
No more looking back.
No more burned bridges.
No more drudging up the past.
Only to lose herself in his nook
For a glimmer of hope.
For a chance of future.
For a dream of home.
Looking back and bringing up the past often blinds the way to the future. I have no idea how this poem happened when I saw the prompt “back”! First and possibly last poem Stream of Consciousness style.
Written for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt – “back”. Come and join the fun 🙂
All that remains is an exhausted sigh,
The fight trickling out of the heart,
Silent, invisible and intangible
The only thing left now is to depart.
.
There is no last leaf to hold on to,
No splashes of paint on the dying tree,
The dry walkway is calling out an invite
And birds singing songs of being free.
.
The first step is always the hardest,
And brings back lost dreams, all hazy
But the first glance into the open world
Makes the next steps miraculously easy.
.
Like ripping off a stubborn band-aid,
The sting sears and scorches in deep,
But the winds cool and renew senses
To joyfully escape the arrested sleep.
The end of a year, the end of a relationship, the end of a life, the end of an illusion. The first step out is always the hardest and perhaps, also the greatest. Just some musings on that first step and to find the courage to take it.
Written for mindlovemisery’s menagerie prompt, “Won”
Also, heading over to Open Link Night hosted by Gabriella at dVerse.
An Armchair Perfectionist 