Fractured * 12/29/13

I would gladly exchange worn self-justifying

opinions for freshly bludgeoned feelings.

Feelings that invisibly pull me along

and truly capture me into a self-animation

towards a deeper truth yet undefined.

I can unintendedly hide forever

what is so obviously pain filled

and unresolved to me.

I cannot say this pain into any words

that would immediately set me free.

It is a riddle of my self parts that, in my mind,

would rather problem then solve.

I am blindsided by flashpoints

that stir me into storm.

From there, I even speak the light

in drunken passage to the delight of others,

receiving calm.

In a deeply private way,

this censures me

as if I were stealing from myself.

Small deaths by another’s hand

are a priority over self-deceit.

I fight momentous battles

to avoid conflicts over soul.

My epiphany is impulsive

and bolstered by others’ auras to imbibe.

If bleakness and brightness were

my all night companions on the train of life,

I would gladly sleep with bleakness

into each day’s dawn so that false hope

would have no residence inside of me.                                   I would shun brightness

so that dawn would not confuse my day life

with my dreams.

For me, wounds of false hope are worse

than self-redemption as a claim.

Even pseudo worth against the blackness

is a measure I can live on without refrain.

If help is on the way,

it will have to surface in me

as service towards others

who are more obviously in pain.                                            It will have to slip into me

as a need on my part

in helpful service to another.

It has to be a deepening of love

I unselfishly give to another

that some how returns to me.

A second hand self love,

is given back in return.

For I would rather attend

to the open wound of another

than notice the compound fracture in me . . .