April Showers

Cry “Havoc”

and let slip

the tongue,

the fist,

the lash.

The incremental

slide

slowly becomes a roar.

Blood in the veins,

deafening,

excluding

all around,

like falling to Earth.

 

Oh, so far

up inside a mind,

my own

medicine of words,

comes slow.

In my own little world

I float,

only to come crashing down

once reality

sets in.

 

I am all alone

no more.

I guess it depends

on me.

Scream

until

my lungs are gone.

So empty,

so vacant.

 

Tumbling hard.

Can’t pick up the horizon.

Out of the clouds,

I have lost my way.

 

My impact

is not

like that of a meteor;

I am flesh

and bone.

My impact is quiet.

On a slow,

calm day,

if you listen carefully,

you can hear me fall,

over and over again.

It’s a vicious cycle.

 

 

HG – 2019

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