Monday, August 01, 2016

Our Blessed Monster

author's note:

If I thought these poems only related to my own experience, I wouldn't bother to publish.


A miracle birth occurred
the moment your storm
collided with mine:

though born with
a bumpy riot of a heartbeat
that monster baby refused to die--

even when stuffed in a box
and buried far underground
the life of our union bled upward
through black volcanic rock

to burst forth and blast us again:

a difficult child and yet
its twisted limbs forced us
to find our strength

and in the process of finding
we climbed

up this divine rosy mountain
of dark thorny crosses

until we'd gone as far as we could go

then the blessed beast slipped
our tightest grip.

Now, as the clouds slowly slowly clear
I'm beginning to see our accomplishment.

And yet...
on one of my stormy nights
I may fall back to being small
and again try to imagine
the freedom I could've enjoyed
had I done as I'd once planned
and traveled alone...

but when I wake to find myself
in the mud of such regret
I just push myself back up

and keep on climbing...

© 2016, Michael R. Patton
My War for Peace: a book

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