I Write You, Alive

[Fegger]

What dismal depths shall I explore,
In torrid sweep of the murk?
Layers of myself, decomposing
In painful increments,
As indiscernible vestiges
Of my former self,
Gelatinous, odoriferous,
Lay stagnant on the bottom.

The need for me to take
Fresh, outside air--
To bellow the sediment
Clear,
Exposing that which claimed
Innocence, claimed youth:
A trusting time.

Sediment disperses;
And particles choke like aging lies;
Those which are immortal.
I feel compelled to nest
Among the cold silt,
Feel the ire of my past;
Slough the errant debris
Of organic conquests,
Sift and seine the meaningful.

Faces tumble, partially buoyant,
Listless, with mouths agape,
Strangled by my indulgent actions,
Yet patient for resurrection;
Mumbling rhetorical prayer,
Supplicating fond memory,
To disgorge their solid lungs.

Purified by earnest avowal,
One silhouette rises,
Conjoined with my Peace.
This day, we may savor
The awakening hours
Of the reparations offered,
In love, in verse,
Ascending un-poisoned,
Content and unified,
I write you, alive.

[PrinceMyshkin]

For me, much, much too cerebral, too calculated, too remote from whatever emotional impulse gave birth to it.