Poetry: #96 The Storm's Eye (Used 4)
A selection from a personal collection: Used
Article voiceover
Preface
As this collection unfolds each week, I want you, dear reader or listener, to understand that no matter what you’re going through, what you’ve been through, there is an end—there is light at the end of the tunnel. Letting go of the past is only possible if you live in the present. Make the past history, learn what you can about yourself, at whatever pace is comfortable, and I promise your present will take you to a brighter future.
The Storm’s Eye
Perhaps regret is far too strong a word. I stand by my adage even as I write this; I do not regret any choice in my life. There is no point. I can’t turn back time, change opinions, or alter history of any kind. I am stuck in the present and have to find a path to a future without sickness. Sickness of the soul. I need to heal, give to rest, and I know I have made more mistakes than I can count, but all those regrets I may have stated I had, they are not. They were anger and a way to look past how deeply hurt I had become. How far into the pit of anguish I had fallen. And yet, I find my words hurt my cause as much as they healed my soul. I am generally a colander, but as of late I have let myself retain the liquid I hold like a bowl. I wish I could create holes in my skin to let that painful liquor fall from within. If there were any method to save my lungs from drowning me with my own imagination, I would take it. I feel like I’m still being ripped apart even as I pick myself up. I have no choice. There is no reason for me to speak with my voice, but as I write, I speak aloud. Just to make sure there isn’t a crowd. Used, broken, old. Heh, I’m ancient. If this is what life is and the result of the pains and disappointment for those around, why? Why does life have to be this way? I get many things, money runs the world. Money is evil. I get that there are two sides to every coin, but deep down I know the people that make those choices that make or break millions of lives, they have to live with their mistakes so why can’t I? Perhaps, I have looked at my situation wrong. Entirely misinterpreted as more than a life lesson. Lessons are harder to go through than the real thing in my experience. To know the suffering, to feel the emotions, to know the consequences for the first time, they hurt. Maybe I am still as strong as I always was but like my immune system I found a virus I had no tools to prevent, to fight, to survive. Here I am, a survivor, and what do I have to say for myself? There are no regrets without my anger, that in blind flushed adrenaline my mouth speaks and my hands write words that wear a cloak other than my normal demeanor. I am not regretful, no I am sorrowful. That I had to let myself go down this road, that I pushed myself in an attempt to skip my fall down the side of the mountain I had climbed. But here, where the valley resides, I found happiness, closure, and acceptance at last. I had thought it all had past.
What are your thoughts on this poem?
I hear another poem is coming every Saturday!