Wayne Thompson
The C
Silent malignance,
With stealth, moving in veins, vessels, organs.
Showing false signs of passiveness.
Building raw nests in fresh cells,
Quietly taking charge.
Establishing dominance.
Creating muddled messengers, fooling the educated,
Relaxing the host.
Boring into the very heart of life,
Tunneling without a soul
Through flesh, through bone.
Leaving a net of destruction,
That we can not close,
Except through that last gasp of life.
Our confused lungs suck in,
To expel the last breath
Of a drug inducted death,
As The “C” moves on to another.
Pain
Dark, violent skies, dull my wandering mind
With thoughts of love come and lost.
Bright scenes of vibrant joy, reverberating back
Only to be shattered by deep dark words
That find ears only too willing to listen.
To a heart that had healed once
And tried again.
Only to find that same empty tomb
Where new Love was once the only bloom.
Pools of emotional pain
Run cold and silent, their depths still unknown.
Their currents too stark and fresh to feel.
No thoughts of savior,
No thoughts of grace.
Nowhere to move my mind, to
Where it can rest and heal and grow.
Fresh slashes through the cords of self-worth
That snuff the will to find new birth.
Undaunted, I journey to life’s vague, new pastures.
Stirring past feelings of dark doubt.
To trust that this pain is for growth,
To see the darkness through to the end.
To forgive; still looking within,
For new answers, instead of out.
To see the good lying within the bad.
Amused by lessons learned; of fading ghosts, now dust.
Greeting imminent love with a of heart of trust.