Inside a sarcophagus of stone,
I have dwelled,
a hard place in which to learn to live,
no breath taken, heart stilled,
where all living shrinks down,
behind skin and soul,
to be bound in hieroglyphic wrappings
designed by others.
Onlookers believing
the pretense they wish to see--
as I stopped struggling for air,
a mimic of the beating rhythms of life,
accepting the coldness of the stone.
Any warmth transitory as the sun
in its travels from
season to season
from rise to set,
in these years
I have known only coldness
after any fleeting glimpse of warmth.
Such a bitter coldness--
though none would think
I lived encased within stone,
so life-like my hieroglyphic mask,
a masterful mimic I had become.
Until stone cracked,
by mountain winds and sun,
falling in splintered shards,
crumbling to dust ‘round me.
My tattered, faded wrappings
torn, hanging loosely.
Until a hand, as if in possession
of long forgotten, ancient magic,
should touch long dead embers,
and in touching rekindle flame,
swirling within, spiraling outward
warmth that does not die
upon the withdrawal of touch.
A heat lingering, warming still,
stirs hunger once thought dead to life.
Sweetness pounds a rhythm out—
starting a heart to beat again,
blessed breath returns
to deflated lungs,
the shallow breath, the weak pulse
hold ancient power,
leaving flesh and blood and bone
to move in life again,
a life reclaimed from the stone
of gray filled years.
Cautiously, hesitantly,
I step over the dust of shattered stone,
making my way toward the touch
that carefully, tenderly removed
my tattered hieroglyphic bindings,
allowing me to move freely
within my own skin.
There trembles within,
a longing I never sought to find.
Hope rises and takes Fear
within its embrace,
transforming it to joy,
as I extend my hand
to the warmth of you.
no gulf across time
no forever in forever promises
of time that drips still
as if the eternal existed
in the binding of souls
and yet--
and yet—
breath stops in hope--
with my final breath
I will soar into the sun
to wait for you,
or should it be--
find you there waiting for me,
then we will fly beyond
whatever magic of spirit
there exists,
mingling and joining
with the elements--
of air
of earth
of water
of fire
merging and separating
and merging again
for an eternity.
then should we,
in the beauty of condemned blessings,
fall to earth once again,
no matter where,
no matter when,
I will find you yet again.
In this day and age We ought to be able to be wired Wired for anything, everything– For hope— –dreams –love –desire Wired for it all and more Wired for an add on room In the heart when we’ve run out– For expansion of sound inside When we’ve come to love the buzz of silence. For blood that doesn’t run dry, Doesn’t clot to clog the works up. Wired so we always have just one more try Inside souls always filled With the romantic dreams of youth. Wired so there are stairs always to climb. Wired so no wounds ever cut so deep Blood runs out, runs dry. Wired so we can learn Yet pain be erased. Wired, just wired, Plugged in with a soul of shiny copper wire.
No roots here, Not under this. Not under this, North Texas sky. Nothing grew, Nothing rooted, Although I tried.
I planted native plants, Fertilized and tended, Weeded and watered, Talked lovingly even, Became the crazy lady With the plants.
For a bit, just a bit, Each plant bloomed In wonderful cinematic, Glorious technicolor. I would think– I’ve got it right! But no. Each would start To wilt and fade. I googled and researched, Soil tested even. Yes, it’s true– to know What to do. But I was doing everything right.
No expert could tell me true, Just why I could not Get anything to flourish, to grow, to root In this, this North Texas soil Under this, this North Texas sky.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
Showcasing the best of short films and screenplays from the LGBTQ+ community. Screenplay Winner every single month performed by professional actors. Film Festival occurs 21 times a year!
Hearing The Mermaids Sing 