And so in another trip around the sun,

locked in a place where time becomes an enemy,

I speak the silent language of sighs and crystallized anger

waiting to fill so many empty boxes

I label each with names — Lonesome, Solitary, and Forlorn

I write until the words don’t hurt, chapped by a thirst I cannot quench

I feed my rage with empty days and long nights

and revel in a metaphorical death that dissipates in the morning sun

 

While on this single-minded journey I capture the scent of change

It rides on the silver winds of gratitude and flows like 

a meandering river across time and space

Hope is scribed in light like signposts on the road home

capturing memories I suddenly remember

Although I am tired, I remember

Tender is the heart even as it breaks

Isolation is the cure

 

And so in the next trip around the sun,

when these days are but painful footnotes in history

I will speak the language of healing and lessons learned

as those boxes fill to overflowing

I will relabel those names — Family, Celebration, and Good Health

I will write with renewed vigor, encouraged by progress and promises

I will sip champagne with loved ones and linger over tangerine sunsets

and listen to our voices raised together once again

 

photo: Mental Health Prompts

prompts: #reevesroses, #MadVerse, #moonmystic, #mentalhealthprompts, #TastyPoem, The Sunday Whirl, #SundaysWhirligig