Post by paintedmusic on Jan 7, 2008 23:35:54 GMT -5
At the End of my Rope
11.12.07
Emotions are a convoluted rope
(that’s alive and wriggling like a worm)
twisted from a piled-high mountain
of fragile, thinner threads
and if too many of those weak cords snap,
the rope will begin to u.n.r.a.v.e.l
until i(t) fall(s) apart
Depression appears when too many knots
become iNtErWoVeN in the beautiful,
uncorrupt cable that is me
(it is me as I am it)
and I feel like I can’t breathe (because)
those knots double and then triple
until they overflow in the pit of my stomach
and lodge into my throat instead
(because that’s the only place they’ll fit).
Sometimes I’ll wish I can just loop my rope
co around my stiff neck—
Tie it to the ceiling—and (sweet) release.
Bewilderment—the kind that sucks
all (other) thoughts from my mind like a
gaping, growing black hole (until I can’t think
about anything else: it consumes me)—
LoOpS and twists and spins (and frays)
I’m at my wit’s end (literally)
and even though my tears purify me,
I feel no respite (no respite) when tears run
in (bloody) rivulets down my ash(en) cheeks
ash salvaged from the ravaging fire that left my insides
b.a.r.r.e.n
Before I can strategize about how
to keep my rope together,
I look down and see the multicolored strands
loose and splayed across the muddy floor
for everyone to see—like the way my heart
ruptures publically over.and.over
too many strings to count, to remember, to find,
to re-twist into good-as-new
and as I kneel (knee-deep in blessed mud)
to retrieve them—because I have to try (something),
they burst into violent, Phoenix flames
(except that they don’t get reborn afterwards).
Just when I begin to wonder how I can
reconstruct my(dying)self back up—
like a pyramid (block.by.block)—
just when my mud-plastered fingers begin to
t.r.e.m.b.l.e with fear (which is an emotion my
burning cable cannot contain in its feeble weakness)
my rope suddenly (somehow) returns
(to the perfect point where I begin to doubt
it was ever lost from the start)
whole and beautiful, strong and new:
ready for me to reach deep within its sparkling braids
to extract strength from the rock of stable emotion.
It is flawless and gleaming, bleached with disinfectant
(one that’s too expensive for me to ever be able to afford)
so jewel-encrusted that there’s only ONE
who has riches enough to purchase such a treasure.
And to think He deemed me worth it.
(Thank You for tying me back together.)
I went through a pretty difficult time in my life a couple of months ago (I won't go into the details - they're pretty boring
), and I felt as if I'd never want to smile again. Suddenly, when I felt as if I'd never climb out of the rut, I woke up one day and felt... happy. Just a simple happiness that I hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. I was inspired - so I wrote, and this is the result. Please let me know what you think.
11.12.07
Emotions are a convoluted rope
(that’s alive and wriggling like a worm)
twisted from a piled-high mountain
of fragile, thinner threads
and if too many of those weak cords snap,
the rope will begin to u.n.r.a.v.e.l
until i(t) fall(s) apart
Depression appears when too many knots
become iNtErWoVeN in the beautiful,
uncorrupt cable that is me
(it is me as I am it)
and I feel like I can’t breathe (because)
those knots double and then triple
until they overflow in the pit of my stomach
and lodge into my throat instead
(because that’s the only place they’ll fit).
Sometimes I’ll wish I can just loop my rope
co around my stiff neck—
Tie it to the ceiling—and (sweet) release.
Bewilderment—the kind that sucks
all (other) thoughts from my mind like a
gaping, growing black hole (until I can’t think
about anything else: it consumes me)—
LoOpS and twists and spins (and frays)
I’m at my wit’s end (literally)
and even though my tears purify me,
I feel no respite (no respite) when tears run
in (bloody) rivulets down my ash(en) cheeks
ash salvaged from the ravaging fire that left my insides
b.a.r.r.e.n
Before I can strategize about how
to keep my rope together,
I look down and see the multicolored strands
loose and splayed across the muddy floor
for everyone to see—like the way my heart
ruptures publically over.and.over
too many strings to count, to remember, to find,
to re-twist into good-as-new
and as I kneel (knee-deep in blessed mud)
to retrieve them—because I have to try (something),
they burst into violent, Phoenix flames
(except that they don’t get reborn afterwards).
Just when I begin to wonder how I can
reconstruct my(dying)self back up—
like a pyramid (block.by.block)—
just when my mud-plastered fingers begin to
t.r.e.m.b.l.e with fear (which is an emotion my
burning cable cannot contain in its feeble weakness)
my rope suddenly (somehow) returns
(to the perfect point where I begin to doubt
it was ever lost from the start)
whole and beautiful, strong and new:
ready for me to reach deep within its sparkling braids
to extract strength from the rock of stable emotion.
It is flawless and gleaming, bleached with disinfectant
(one that’s too expensive for me to ever be able to afford)
so jewel-encrusted that there’s only ONE
who has riches enough to purchase such a treasure.
And to think He deemed me worth it.
(Thank You for tying me back together.)
I went through a pretty difficult time in my life a couple of months ago (I won't go into the details - they're pretty boring
), and I felt as if I'd never want to smile again. Suddenly, when I felt as if I'd never climb out of the rut, I woke up one day and felt... happy. Just a simple happiness that I hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. I was inspired - so I wrote, and this is the result. Please let me know what you think.
