The Reflection Pool

Effigies were razed as life’s meaning
choked on the shock and awe of the
battle my body is doing with itself.
The combat zone is littered with the
scars of modern medicine and
the pieces of corpse that lack any soul.
Twisted and gnarled, this physical
landscape exists on the inside, hidden
form eyes and tests that probe. The only
proof of existence lays in the weathered
and strained face staring back at you,
the shades of gray that surround the black
of pupil, but only if you know the code
to read it.

Confusion’s grasp has not lessened in the
aftermath of the rebellion of tissue as
“health” continues to spiral into the despair
of the unknown, clouding existence. All the
while, fear endeavors to take over my being,
seeking to redefine who I am and erase
all hope of any kind.

POSITIVE THINKING! is what they say.
Stay
Positive
and it’ll all be o-k-a-y.
But this frame, this shape,
“it just don’t feel right.” It is
unrecognizable, a new territory that lacks
maps and keys to decipher the unfamiliar
landmarks and pitfalls. No guide. And the
compass that I have lived by is askew.
Spinning, yearning for its natural
connection to our universal North. An
imbalance delivered by the power of
this volcanic eruption of emotional turmoil.

As a newly anointed citizen of Pompeii,
the poses of my body solidify in the
history of me, never again to be a
movement that this form will feel and enjoy.
Joints freezing with time’s passing,
ease has been erased from easy.