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February 5, 2014

I Wasn’t Living. I Was Merely Not Dying. ~ Bryan Tramontana {Poem}

trees in a fog

The ghouls that torment and betray your existence,

Linger in your depths searching,

For a simple sliver of recognition,

a moment in your light,

Oh the misery of an orphaned pain

Inevitably grows into a reckless and disguised manifestation of your fear,

The anesthesia running through your veins does not discern it’s captives,

Allow a voice for your pain,

Give birth to the freedom found in uninhibited expression,

An open heart for it all,

The direct experience rather than

the bastard of anger,

The muted joy you thought to be bliss, a mere foreshadowing of potential,

Seek not for love and truth, they are Illusory and incomprehensible at times,

search out the barriers that have kept you comfortable, complacent, beyond the grasp of death, yet barely living,

The open arms of love have eagerly awaited this reunion

Waiting for you, just beyond the wall

 

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Assistant Editor: Richard May/Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Magdalena Roeseler/500px

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