Drifting: your body numbs.
In this biting cold water.
At least this branch of it,
Is really water; no fire, no smoke.
You continue to weep,
Your tears freezing as they fall.
Perfect spheres of ice,
Falling at your feet.
Each tear rolling down,
Clattering against the last,
Before freezing into place.
Drifting, crying, freezing.
Further downstream you
Notice, great icebergs.
Smaller ones littered amongst.
So many, a narrow path to drift.
Still you weep, and drift,
Not taking much notice of them.
You close your eyes,
And let the tears fall down.
Your lamentation stirs
Long forgotten, buried,
Memories of childhood.
Cruelty and wickedness...
Deeds done unto you:
The pain, the hurt, the bruises
On your body, anguish of thought.
You feel the tears fall faster.
Clearly now, it echoes.
These phantoms of torment,
These ghosts in your skin,
Dancing on the ends of nerves.
The events of your youth,
Playing on the inside of your
Lids In terrifying definition.
Sorrow spilling from your past.
Not all monsters are born.
Some are made, shaped by
Men; and other monsters,
Twisted reflections of their selves.
Frost coated, your eyes open.
Beads of ice frozen together,
Working their way up your legs.
Upon drifting closer, you notice it.
Inside the small icebergs,
The souls of those;
Who cannot, or will not,
Let go of their sorrows.
Tears still flowing from
Eyes frozen in anguish, and
Trapped by their memories.
Even more haunting still...
The larger ones, solid ice,
Solid agony, bearing faces.
Crags in the surface forming
Eyes and down turned mouths.
So lost in grief, they became it.
Forever filling this river gaol.
You break off one sphere from
The rivulet on your cheek.
Holding it up, peering into it,
You can see one of the memories
You'd locked deep away.
One that lead you to wickedness.
You cry and cry and cry,
Smiling as each new tear falls.
Warmth splashing at your feet,
Thawing you, as you let them go.
As you weep in joy,
A slender goddess rises up
From the river in front of you,
She gently takes your hand.
Leading you ashore,
Through dark tunnels,
Downward to the bank
Of a vast still river.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
