Roses underneath the pain

Whispers in the light.
Tiny voices hurrying me towards.
This ledge of existence.
Karma crawled over me, covering me like a blanket.
Blocking out the vision which haunted my mind.
I moved beyond winter, down deep into the stomach of an ice age.
Cold and lonely.
My hope flickering like a dying flame.
While nothing came.
No coconut breeze to bring me back to the shore.
No memories, once buried, rose up in a Lazarus tableau.
Indeed, there was no sound but the wind.
Which tore at my rotting flesh like little daggers.
It was then the warmth came.
Inwardly, the calming chemical concert that played in my veins.
It washed over me a picture of you.
Crimson and metallic, hammered into my skull.
For you would be the last thing I ever saw.
A bridge over to the other side.
That final freedom giving goodbye.

19/07/202219/07/2022 by Mark Ryan Categories: fate, winterTags: art, chemicals, dying, ending, flame, goodbye, iceage, poem, Poetry, veins, voices, warmth, winter 5 Comments