"Grey Skies"
I dwelt with dreariness,
staring up into blue-grey clouds
wondering if that day
was when I ended things,
immobilized in a wintrous land
where hues of ash never wavered.
I sat with demons at a bottle’s bottom,
drowning in whiskey-drenched screams.
There was never enough
to kill the pain
to obliterate the agony
of a child who never had a chance.
I sought shelter in arms
too distant to encapsulate warmth
into my somber soul,
left screaming “go away”
when all I wanted
was tenderness and patience.
Sometimes the only thing
heard in stone-shaded clouds
were screams of a woman
frigid and fracted,
who wanted nothing more
than to let endlessness
swallow me whole.
Maybe the screaming
ripped open the firmament;
simply a crack where light
began seeping through.
Maybe only scarred hands
have strength to tear cloud frays
to scatter them
across a deadened land.
All I know is that I crawled
until one day I stood,
when I took a step
and then another,
and kept going.
Maybe oblivescence
is nothing more than
a long anguished rout,
a feeble clamber,
towards the realization
that no one can wrap up
my inner child in
warmth and love
except myself,
and no one else can tell her
what she needed to hear:
I will bend swords against
monsters and soldiers
to protect you.
You may remain hidden
beyond castle walls.
Let me fight for us.
Let me skin grey skies
until they’re achingly blue,
until the sun and moon
hang side by side
in dismay at this resilience.
You see, they too thought
we were too moribund
to ever walk back into the light.
Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay
Comments