Elements To Die
With the waves crashing down on my mind
I struggle to breath, water filling my broken lungs,
Tears mixing with the salty sea, swallowing my body in it's roiling currents
Breaking down the elements into a dust,
Scattered dreams and thoughts floating on a gilded surface
With the fire flowing down my skin
I whimper as it consumes my identity, sparks lighting up my eyes
Burning my skin, hollowing my heart and stealing my cares
Boiling my blood away, into a vapor trailing through the atmosphere
Tearing my essence apart, the embers glowing like an abandoned forge
Crippled limbs of heavens long forgotten by time and it's friends
Water and fire, they burn and drown,
If I could say which was worse, I wouldn't have a blackened or suffocated mind
If I could choose one to die from, to go out in pain or peace
Both with arrant beauty as death and love take me away
into the beyond abyss, far into the depths, and high above the sky
In a place of nothing, of absence and complete nonexistence
Then I would have to say, the sound of home, a crackling fire
would be a remembrance of a life, but in suffering I shall go
Yet I find myself drawn as lead to paper
to the idea of acceptance in the sea's lovely grasp
A burden left behind on the shoreline, with the lost and unknown as company
So, shall the decision cost me a life?
No, I say, it will not cost me anything but a body already dead
Shredded by words scorned stones thrown by the living
Although they are murderers in each's own right,
I stand Queen to that title, for they did not cast those looks for free, nor alone
In the night I stood at an altar and bleed for my gods,
In the day I prayed for salvation from my nightmares around me
Seek the light, they would tell me, and you will be found
But I have lived in this darkness for so long, it has become me and my home
A shelter from the storm swirling outside these cobweb walls
Caught inside, a spider without a will to fight
Must there be an answer to the long abated question;
Is there a reply I can formulate without the harshness of their words to punish back?
The world is a wondrously tragic truth no one can read but those who are too, a truth
Born of the miseries and the deaths that bring about that talk of devils and demons
The ones that live inside my head, who made me an empress, the ones who stole me away
and gave me the choice; of peace or suffering?
Is it not so imperfect that I must choose, an unworthy merit to make me take
Of all the liberties given, the only one I wish not to see
Is the one standing in front of me.
Copyright © Rowan Evans | Year Posted 2017
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