handicap

open |ˈōpən|
adjective
1 allowing access, passage, or a view through an empty space; not closed or blocked up

Frames of sticks and glass, with freakish smiles inside, mock me. Idyllic renderings of something I should desire haunt me as I try to decipher scattered internal ramblings. The prevailing hindrance of my progress is only all of the possibility. Anemic monologues taunt my intuitive trajectory, and monochromatic drivel ensues.

Oh Consciousness, remain stubbornly mobile! Encircling daggers of doubt try to keep you from growing. Resist!

Oh my Soul, do not become threadbare in this excruciating climate. Persist!

I must grip and uncover some fragment of hope; a grain of probability, or a slight strand of anticipation. Walls around me seem to grow and fortify, twist and taint. This illusory ambiance is multifaceted in its brilliance and devastation.

ENDFLIGHT

At one time it flew and at one time it floated.
It's borders were free and adorned with wind.

It's core was hollow and void of dreams.
It shifted to and fro through sunbeams.

The fringes were dampened one day and it fell.
It floated no more, it just fell straight to hell.

The downpour was tragic that stole it from flight.
Sudden, invasive, devoid of all light.

And now it just lays in the dirt, drenched in pain.
All beauty was stripped from that feather in the rain.

Copyright 2009 Lydia Silvestro

Addiction is Just a State of Mind.

Foreword: This piece isn't limited to any one thing that I have trouble letting go of. In reflection, I realize that it covers a fairly extensive range, from the obvious, smoking, to the lesser acknowledged mental destructiveness that plagues each day. I was in a state of coping with a prematurely-felt loss, and had just given in to the grim clutches of something that I'd done so much work to escape up to that point.

---

Paper-thin bars shouldn't be so constricting.
Transparent walls shouldn't be so addicting.
A spark ignites the next trap that continues to hold me in its grasp.

This wrenching and twisting of my gut demands satisfaction.
Satisfaction found in the destruction of feeling.
Anxiety is temporarily released to the sky in an expulsion of toxic air,
Because it's what I know. What I've become numb to.

The tunnel's too long to see the light at the end.
The clouds are too black to reveal any lining that might present a gleam of silver.

Another leap toward the realization of a dream results in scraped knees.
Another redepmtion overlooked in the interest of accomplishing the next failure.

Glistening droplets of dread gather in the recesses of my imagination.
A culmination of blood, tears, poisons and regret block any outlet where creative genius might flow.

Letting go would only result in the release of vomit and disappointment,
And things better left unsaid.

Unable to trust my own judgement, I seek the affirmation of those who hold no lasting interest in my end result.

I rely on no-one, and I rely on everyone.
I crush any and all of my own dreams with the same vehicle that brought them forth.
I am my own worst nightmare.
I blame myself for blaming myself and hate myself for blaming anyone else.

Paper-thin bars close in at the risk of breaking;
Claiming me as their willing captive.
More excuses are made. More opportunities dismissed.
I lay on my face, letting the concrete catch my toxic tears.
Breathing subsides and I'm at peace.

Hope for Heaven.

Foreword: There has been much debate over the centuries about Heaven. I've come up with no absolutes that I cling to, but have written about what I hope for.

---

Blinded by the reverberations and deafened by the sheer brilliance of senses that they are experienced beyond feeling.

Abolished are everything equal to dread, guilt, pain, and loathing.

Accomplished is everything good.

The soul's wellness is irrelevant is accordance with the free-flowing water of life.

For so much greater is the life-giving water than any description of well-being.

Tangible and graspable are holiness and perfection.

White-washed with the perpetual waves of grace and mercy are my soul and spirit.

Each verbal projection from every being blends into the most harmonious choral masterpiece ever achieved. All weep as they praise.

Freedom.