Aubade

                                                                      

Song of the morning. Winter bliss.

The things that were. Won’t ever be. The songs we sang have dried up in our throats. The melodies morphed back into pain.

A thousand clouds, just a star or two. Beneath the leafless tree, a manic brain on a moonless sky. Flashing satin phantoms in the night. Whispers in the trees. Gentle laps on the stream. In the darkness, eyes become ears; blinking in the infinite emptiness of nocturnal and thoughts, wholesome darkness that can be touched. Darkness that enshrouds.

I’ll rip a little bit of it and wear its black as a crown for pain. The rest I shall stuff in the voids of my soul to make me feel whole.

A tear then two. Torrents from a clouded soul. Rushing breath and muffled heaves. Oh, that I had the patience of the Biblical Ayub. Oh, that this night was subtle then I wouldn’t be lying out here in the cold with my hair full of dust. I wouldn't be here sprawled on the ground with a knife in my left hand and a Bible on my right. I would be elsewhere, curled up in bed pretending to sleep. Feel that? A fire-white ghost rising from my depths, thrusting into the night, getting lost in the mystery of dark.

Feel that? The tingling on my tongue? I tasted both tears and sweat.  The thrills and filth of life. Look?!  The threads of friendships that were beautifully woven. The homes that we built in fellow humans, they are burning! Glowing like dancing gypsies in the dark. Musky. Somber.

The walls I built so high are now crumbling and crushing my very self. I take the knife in my right hand. The Bible falls to the ground. Its open pages now ruffled by the wind. I know that somewhere in the clouds, an angel watches, perturbed.

I won't be cutting my arm tonight. Tonight, it’s the heart I shall set free. Free from the pain of belonging. Free from the emptiness that chokes and burns.

I was here.  I was human. I treaded upon ugly paths. I walked upon this land’s soil and drank of the waters in its wells. I breathed its air and danced to its music. I am a woman. A song. A flower in full blossom. I am fury and bate. Versatile. Mercurial. A sunset at noon.

“I was never enough. I was overly flawed. Never fair enough. Not for anyone."

It's a whisper grabbed by the winds of spring.

Now, I lay my head on my dust pillow. A pillow sated with my own tears. Now I let the winds rush into my lungs. Winds I might never find on the other shore. Now, I sigh and close my eyes. I want to feel the knife break through my skin and sink into my heart. I want to feel the warmth of the blood in my veins. I want to hold death's bloody hand and dance my soul away. Then if I make it to the other side, where the dead wait to be born, perhaps someone will ask; Did it hurt when you died?

To which I shall say. That was one of my many deaths it didn’t hurt like the rest and yes, pain does heal pain sometimes.
                 

                                       Lyanah.


Wrote this in one of my dark days. To anyone going through this, there's a blue sky beyond the storms.