Soul Whispers
With a canvas this large, I chose black paper
And fruitlessly wrote with the same ink I did before
A silent voice calling out to the deaf
Smoke-strained and hoarse
Remaining static at 25
The smallest of steps pushed back by quarantine
Losing myself in stories of what once was
Or what could be were I a different person
Three and a half years static
Having climbed dazzling heights
Sweated in the loathsome summer sun
And lived a taste of promised dreams
Have I burnt through a lifetime supply of adrenaline?
Or am I still shell-shocked from years of bombings?
How long do I get to fear her name?
Do exit wounds that bloody ever close?
The credits rolled a long time ago
And sequels were written, canned and derided
What does it take to free yourself from a page
You so gleefully shredded in the first place?
And three years deep, I fell in love with my lover
Only to find the depths of incompatibility
Or merely two viewpoints that reached the same conclusion
With two different formulas
Having returned to zero, such pain is divine
To weep so freely, to feel so sad
The warmest, most comforting pool spills from my eyes
As emotion returns to crack its dam
Will I wake up tomorrow as empty as the years before?
Most likely so, but with salt streaks as evidence
Joy, sorrow, it's all higher than zero
I call your name as proof I can still write
On this space-dyed canvas
My perspective wrote with jet-black ink
But with this single crack
A dam can jot down once with white.
Copyright © Derek Chos | Year Posted 2020
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