Laying across my chest like the caress of
lovers long since departed on a cool Sunday
morning, these truths know me
and I them
but we refuse to speak in public.
They comfort me in times of terror
when I am afraid that I may not make it through another
year’s hazing, reminding my soul of
what it has endured, that which cannot be spoken
because my tongue refuses to free that which had imprisoned the body and nearly killed the spirit. the tongue is loyal, it thinks. The heart is not so sure.
Not sure about the caress, the silence, the re-memory of all that has transpired. Not so sure about holding a comforting grimness or the energy it sucks or the darkness holding blackness captive.
The soul longs for a rupture. A divorce. A cathartic freeing. It holds no care for the consequences of Truth but only that Truth’s presence will invigorate and free to invigorate and free.
The mind calculates. What is the cost? Can they be noted before they are exponential? Who will be lost and who will be saved? Are we speaking of scars or tattoos? Beauty marks or dark craters? Is there redemption or re-sentencing? The mind calculates but the answer remains undefined, error..present but illegible.