Rambling recovery Series nos 2 – The Build – a poem about strength of character and a journey

Moments ultimately lost, light deflects off my words as they tumble.  Porcelain sentences shatter and scatter.
Impact liquefies my hope, fractured before descent.  I see intention, your fingerprints amongst broken splinters.
Angles acute, ragged edges and registered shards.  Piercing only hope not dreams, internally I bleed.
No pills to pass or ills to savour, neutrality ignored.  My self-blame traps guilt with emotions not belonging.
Observers offload their monkees.  I travel light, baggage abandoned at the roadside.
Past failings left in darkness, a switch is flicked.  I walked quietly into the night, for survival.
Space needed, clocks hands are never still.  Discarded empathy is no excuse for vessels.
No links to intelligence and emotions.  The passionate will seize the day, as ducts open.
Tears flow into seas of feelings, not feared by its owner.  Once in safe hands of soul survivors, I unfurl.
With peacock confidence, now manifesting with humility.  Value once lost in the debris of bygone behaviours.
Once again I am restored through clear water truth.  With glass covered, launched impurities fail to permeate.
Forward momentum achieved, finally believed.  No regression to past damage that cannot define me.
I refuse to place my feet behind my shadow.  I cannot tame the wind to preserve my footprints.
Lost forever in the turmoil of sandstorms.  My many silhouettes to please the masses, drift away.
Staying the course with broken rudder, I strive.  Numbed but not defeated, character never conquered.
With everyday a school day, baby steps are taken. Trauma but managed drama, if thoughts occupy no entry zones.

They are banished, but rarely listen.  Waking me with poetry and prose to capture with ink.

I decipher the order of my mind’s playground.  Struggling to make sense of my unconscious intention.

For certain, are my penned creations.  Permanent, fast-flowing, like the injustice in my veins.

I must vacate the craters between the trenches.  The enemy now known, tamed, placated.

It is but me, I am my true foe.  With every drop of acid, I let hit my skin and burn my lungs.

I now control the inbound fire.  Increasing the safe distance to my soul.

Tumours now severed and quarterized.  The new camp will never see the history.

The renaissance, a work in progress.  The weight replaced by wings.


(Copyright 2022) PedroBatpoet

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