Carries the weight of a thousand iron balls
Attached to iron chains,
fixed to my limbs,
Dragging me down into the deep dark layers of the ocean.
My eyes straining to see the glint of the light above,
As it shrinks so small,
I am not sure if it ever existed.
The fear, even though I am in no control, or should be of this,
Tickles my fragile feelings, still raw to the touch.
I cannot hold in this emotional explosion anymore.
I believe legs were made for the restless that cannot sleep,
And so I utilize them.
The cold is violent, but I embrace its abuse,
I find a relation with it.
The stars are absent,
But the cities lights guide my thoughts down the path,
Until I break from reality,
And walk upon a new trail.
In ordinary circumstances,
The darkness is overwhelming,
It is the perfect color I’d want to follow.
The moon curiously peers out,
And for a brief moment,
Everything is illuminated in a pale white glow.
The ground is moist.
The ocean ripples neatly in the distance.
The wind shatters the peace,
and a sudden shiver
Makes the joints in my arms and legs
At the bend of the trail,
A wooden bench invites me to sit and rest,
And I comply.
I close my eyes, and let the air do the talking.
The wind whips wildly, drowning sound like a waterfall,
But my voice begins to expel the pent up emotions, held inside.
The bench listens intently, never interrupting.
After I share a piece of myself with the bench,
I pat the seat gently,
And the bench shares a piece of itself with me.
My index finger throbs with a fresh splinter,
But I am not upset.
I know this is the only way the bench could show me that
I rise to the power of gravity, always holding us down.
Continuing to walk slowly down the black path,
I come across the dark outlines of a flock of geese squawking to the moon,
Piercing through the wind’s clamor.
My body is frozen like the edges of the water,
As they gracefully fall into line;
Less worries than I will ever have in my life.
After the brief pause of the natural miracle,
My journey continues.
My searching for SOMETHING,
Finds me another bench.
But this bench is positioned next to a willow,
Stripped of its beauty.
The wind passionately blows its drooping branches around,
And the tree almost seems to have a beating heart within.
I step closer.
Its shriveled fingers brush against my face.
The tree is lonely,
It is trying to touch me,
To see me for who I am.
I clamp my fingers around the branches
And pull them up against my face.
The rough scraping, releases my emotions,
The warm tears slide down my cheeks.
I shared a bond with two inanimate objects tonight,
I leave the bench and the gentle willow,
And take the path guided by city lights
Back to my home,
Feeling less alone, knowing something cares.