As if the air has weight beyond its allotted place
Pushing down, crushing, seeping in like bile compressed into the soul's space
And I remember each tear, remember each silent torment
I remember the invisible crush of the words unsaid yet left to foment
I felt your eyes, your accusing eyes
Placing that letter, scarlet, around my neck
Judging and quietly moving in the dark to punish
And draw out malicious vengeance
For the crime of sight.
Sight that lays bare the ugly taking
Lays bare the greed and sickly sweet wakings
I saw you and you hated me for it.
I threw myself to karma, to truth. I walked on
Though the thorns and daggered blades of your morass pulled at me I trudged on
To find myself, eventually, stepping out in that far place
The same man, but changed. Missing parts, others bulging and strange
But always the strength is defined by the absence, yes?
The cup cannot take in more without spilling, yes?
And, in that bit spilt, though it is well spent,
Some piece is too melded in to the offall to be kept
And I must look with longing and see that bit of me bereft.
Thus I sit, long after your hooks have torn free
Long after your darts and arrows no longer reach me
Though you, no doubt, still feebly cast them about
Unaware of their pitiful reach, their impotency.
Yet....sitting here and remembering,
I feel them just the same,
Though the part of me they tore has long since succumbed to entropy.
