She is alive
The titans murmur tender words
Telling us lies, making us feel better, STRONGER.
A rock slide is tumbling down
but we are held in place by THEIR hands
being closed into a room of rocks.
Soon the weight weighs on our minds.
The walls seem to move closer, closing us in.
Trying to grasp onto the last ray of light
and shining energy.
A single pebble falls into place and
hides us away.
As the dust settles so does the dread.
Little by little we die.
Living in our own graves.
Slowly the pieces of us are chained away in the
obscure corners of our minds.
She squeezes her way in.
A feather. Ordinary and substantial.
She floats down carrying with her the cool breeze and the memory of warm hot chocolate.
Her aroma lingers in the tomb.
She spreads her fingers around us like sand,
Caressing us with her familiar touch.
Sparks ignite in the centre of our souls.
We feel the hot chocolate slipping down our throats and warming us from the inside out.
She drags us out of our cage and wills us to fight.
Standing, shouting, and pulling at rocks.
We pile them higher and higher
piling the doubt, the judgement and the lies underneath us
until we stand tall at the roof of
our stony prison.
Pulling out the last pebble,
a shout of energy is released.
The dust is blown away to reveal the vibrant colours of the world.
Only then can we climb out of the
pit THEY created.
Water and misty breezes, laughter in waves and sunny days
trickle back into our body.
She is lifted up to us.
The one thing keeping us going.
Provoked, we grab her and are left
with only a pen.
Dipping it in the darkness that once trapped us.
We trace away the pain and broken promises.
The ink runs out and we are left with
The pebble sits in the corner of our minds.
Picking it up we start to fill the void.
Art can never be killed.
She will eternally give light to those
left alone in the dark.
She will always be the fireworks splattering graciously the colours of your soul
on the blackness called