Stoneheart

Beautiful Purgatory

Welcome to my beautiful purgatory,
This is my bittersweet land of glory,
And of deeply darkening ploys,
Devised by mind, devised to destroy,
The glimmers of sunshine, beams of joy,
That occasionally peek through greying cloud,
And deliver me safely, filling the void.

Since the beginning I had seen this life,
This earth, as a purgatory,
A trial to be fought,
A battle to be won.
I was always beaten within an inch of my life,
Bloody and bruised,
Banished to the furthest reaches of a darkened void.
I was torn apart inside,
Needlessly caressing a broken heart, mind and soul.

I was so consumed within my pain,
Distracted with my perceived purgatory,
That I could not feel,
I had not felt real feelings for what seemed,
A century of self-pity.

I could not touch the sun,
Because I was blocking her rays.

Every week I returned to a form of self-loathing,
Undeserved for the crimes I had committed.
But this was my self-perpetuated reality.

Then today I woke up from the storm outside,
And I was aware of the storm being only inside.
I had cut through the fog, the lies,
That had prevented me from enjoying a life,
That didn't have to be so grim.
I didn't have to sink.
When I could swim.

And today I woke up after the war had been defeated,
And I saw the sun, I saw the light.
I was happy again. I cannot describe this feeling.
This unsurmountable release.

But this, this is something,
This is really something;
To penetrate through the fog that had clouded,
My sense of direction and navigation,
For what seemed like centuries.

And look back down upon myself,
Upon the smallness of my problems,
With delight, delight and ecstasy,
That I had seen from a birds eye view,
That I was chasing after a vision of happiness,
Or what I thought happiness should be,
Like a horse after a carrot,
When I was so capable,
So able,
So ready,
To embrace blue skies,
All along.

What is that road block that denies us joy?
What is that cloud that we create within ourselves?
As a comfort,
When all it does is isolate us from wholeness.
The irony in seeking joy;
The irony is we search too intensely.

Then I opened up to the idea of being content.
I filled my soul, I filled her with joy, music, family,
Warm sunny afternoons, heartfelt praises,
And deep affection for the people I had been shutting out.
I filled her with good food, I satisfied my heart for wholeness.
I reconnected with God. I calmed my mind,
Until my purgatory became beautiful again,
And the demons in my void had been exorcized.
I was pure.
I was whole.
Once more.