Half dead, yet, I can hear

I am so mad.
I am mad at the chaos of my life, the fear that has taken up all the space.
I am mad, for everything it has stolen from me,
For cutting me off from the depths I knew.

Brutally sliced, my soul, with a butcher’s knife
Held prisoner still, in the surface crust
Forced to smother, stuffed my own throat with oppressive passions.

I blame myself for not being able to remember,
Time always comes, I know that well
Hadn’t I done everything to be able to remember when the time would come ?
Remember for me, remember for others.
The other came and strangled me.

At that precise moment when the flaming arrows were shot,
On their way to my chest, as they hissed louder
And the fire from their points began to burn my face,
When the steel came to tear my heart,
In two, in four, in a thousand parts
And crackle my organs to prepare
The collapse.
These dozens, these hundreds of moments, since then,
When I could no longer see
So much the acid of the tears sanded my pupils.

I blame myself for not having been able to look through it
And for allowing myself to be trapped by the shattering forces
Of my trembling weakness

Screaming, captive, lurking,
Buried by forty layers of years,
She was waiting for this moment to explode through my body,
Whip my heart: faster, stronger, run,
In circles, for nothing, all night long
Try to catch up with the incomprehensible thunder
Exhaust yourself, crouch and lay down,
You can no longer move now, can you ?

Left for dead, by the extreme fatigue of exile
Face in the grass soiled by stubborn hailstorm
Mired, my movements, in the heavy thickness the dark,

I’m listening…
I can still hear in the distance,
Slowly stretch the tips of my arm, align my hand,
Extend the edge of my finger to touch
The Source


©FJ June 2024
Recueils / Participation/ Groupe


Photo Credits : Nick Ludlam