Mon, 11/17/2014 - 00:14 -- Lindt

Rainbeat By Lindt Schmitz

You’re         standing          in           a    forest.

You                have no                     voice, and            your

Breath       hangs              loosely         in the                 air           like

The      fading                   light   of   a                    faraway         moon.

You cannot           stand    and               your feet                turn    to mud

as you             cling                to the          peeling              pale          bark.

There              is             no                one                  around                    you.

You                 make                                no                             sound.

Your                nails                      scratch              long            jagged    lines

And                 in                         your                   fingers          the       

powder-soft                                                  tree                    turns

To                      cruel                                    cement.

And yet                 you           make             no sound.

You             grit your                      teeth

Against        the   blades.

                             It         starts            to                    rain.

                 The mournful   tatta-ta-     tatta

            faintly,     gently,   wistfully

      Drumming       on your

  Clothing, your body,

 Tearing      it away.

 You    are   naked.



But           the air­

Isn’t      so     still

Any            more.

Now  you cry out,

A  sweet,      pure,

Painful           wail,

And      you  harden

You  r grip, dragging

Bloody fingers through

And up and over, and you

Find     your   feet      again,

Rising, stumbling, rising again,

And like        a steadfast    sapling

You again                   grow          anew.

Now is the                        time for      growing.

Now is the time                   for that             voice, your

Voice, to    cry out,                 in long,             wailing agony

Because            you                 know   now        that    your     tears

Water                your            roots        and      keep     you        alive.

You                                                  are                                 you.                


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