Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

The Fly

There is nothing left
As the mirror falls
And screams shards of glass
All over the floor.

...where I will eventually walk.

My reflection in pieces,
Now I feel released and able to wander
Without tears stinging my eyes
At each remembrance of the
Hate that ruined me.

Life is brittle.

I finally exhale the recycled air in my lungs
And the abuse that goes with it.
The pain rises like a welt in my mind.

I keep death in my hand,
Maybe there are times to let it go,
To hold love instead.

The shadows are ever long against the wall
And the scars go deeper than even I can see.

I'm driven. I've been maimed from all angles.

I release diffidence from my mouth and
Watch as it flits in the air, looking for news.
I watch it battle fire and ice,
Like a fly promoting peace, touching everything
That ever hurt...

...that ever hurt, whether in reality or dream.

I have let my heart beat when
I wanted to shut it down.
I've let my lungs breathe when
I wanted to hold it Read more →all in.

I've lived in spite of all that has transpired.

All that is left are the tears that walk down my cheeks
And fall together on the palms of my hands.

For once and for all, I hold my soul and prove to
All the world (or maybe just myself) that no one ever held it but me.

11-21-11


Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The Fly

315,066 Poems Read