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
