Cutting Ties

We’re often oblivious to the occasional anguish that comes from building close relationships. It’s as if we are under some anesthetic spell, numbing the pain of silver hooks sinking deep into our hearts and deceiving us with idyllic visions of oblivion.

(Or perhaps I’m a pessimist, perspective purposely poisoned by the fact that everyone I grew attached to drifted from my side, leaving me to wander a crumbling utopia).

But when the anesthetic wears off and the blissful paradise bleeds its vibrant colors to the soiled monochrome of reality, the sharp anguish of those hooks is realized. And freeing myself demands a brutal tugging because my heart stubbornly clings to memories of that fleeting paradise.

And I’m left sore, insides eviscerated in a ruthless, crimson agony. Still raw. Still bleeding. It’s almost as if these wounds will never scab over; with each breath, my chest heaves with despair.

Time heals all wounds they say, but I wish time would hurry up and take this turmoil away.

The Promise

A promise frolics on the wind
Like a child
Skipping along the pavement
With pocketfuls of lotus dreams
And crystal wishes
It playfully rustles
Drooping branches
Lifting them
Towards the golden sky
And I can almost hear
A cheerful sigh
Part grey clouds
Limned with silver shine
Then it kisses my cheek
In swirls of cherry blossoms
And resonant whispers
That everything will be okay

Voice of the Gods

The gods
Shake the heavens
With a thunderous diatribe
Splitting grey skies
As they cower in sackcloth

The earth
Jostled from inertia
Groans repentant
While trees
Dip their heads
In solemn contrition

But the feet
Of the gods’ most loved creation
Hurriedly trod
To the wet, tumultuous voice
Of their rebuke

Umbrellas raised
Defiantly deflecting
The voice of the gods