Crying Fire
Having hemorrhaged hope from a gaping gash,
That I've let bleed from between my eyes,
My heart has held that it shan't cease to clash,
With my head 'til I command what its corpus cries.
Water has woken my mind to what its corpus cries:
For wants that my wanton woes have begot;
Pitiless passions pour from drying eyes and die,
As hydrogen dreams oxidize into liquid drops.
Why cry water when all it wants is wetness?
To dampen the head with a dew of the lewd untruth:
Sex and success are luxorious expressions and precious,
But to believe they are why we should be, is to cry 'till blue.
What is it that you want?
Is what I'd ask my mind.
"Love from a man you've taught to taunt,
Your heart with a love that is always blind."
What else do you want?
I'd ask again to my mind.
"A degree so all can see what you flaunt,
An identity defined by what money refines."
"Hope for only love from your finest friend,
As you spend your days on dollars and ego,
For wihout these you will meet your end,
As your will is weak and without power of veto."
Although I still crave love from a crush,
And indeed need degrees for stability,
I'd be ashamed to be crushed as Shallot the Lush,
And fear to lose my humility.
So I refuse to continue bleeding blue waters from my eyes,
My mind must match my heart today,
For a self who pleads fealty to mind,
Is but a heartless object of hearsay.
What is it you want?
I now ask my heart.
"But only to sign a cordial concordante,
With the mind, for a life that you have yet to start."
"The gash between your eyes is but a blurred misconception,
Of a violet light that you might ignite,
By churning red into your perception.
Then will life be less a flight as you free your inner fight.
Your tears have dried and drained the desert,
Of your seemingly hollow outer shell.
But as they've left you hurt in dehydrated dirt,
A fire has forced its way up as these tears have fell.
What you want is a balance of need,
For the self and all of its peers,
As well as for a mind whose advice you shall heed,
When it beats with the heart that it must hear.
Within your mind there's a pinecone on fire,
That's been trapped in calcefied bone,
But the bone's broken now, which has awakened the wires,
The pine uses to call the heart when it feels alone."
Now I might cry fire from my drying eyes,
As my body beats to both heart and head,
Allowing me to command what my corpus cries,
No longer shall shallow tears from it be shed.
Copyright © Beej Simrov | Year Posted 2017
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