Throes of Agony
A tear drop
gathers on the tip
of your nose.
Take a step back,
a balancing act
on the tightrope,
the crowd pulsing with
a negative energy,
jeering, cat-calling,
throwing trinkets,
half-eaten pickles
and popcorn
at your precariously balanced
body.
One down.
Life gathers you
in a close embrace,
then rips your arms off,
the agony shooting down your veins
like boiling lava
bubbling up from the earth
to engulf the town,
burning alive all who dwell there.
Two down.
Scars litter your body,
ravages your mind,
take one step forward,
pulled backward roughly,
your balance lost;
you hit the ground,
hands outstretched,
the palms ripped
by the rough, hard
concrete.
Stop.
Turn around,
walk backward through time,
reverse actions.
Does it help?
The rush of energy
pushes you back
to the present,
the past unaltered.
Not forgotten,
burned into your synapses
like eternal embers
of a god-lit fire.
Three down.
A tear drop falls,
from the tip of your nose.
Splashes against concrete.
A hand reaches out,
it’s palm warm, comforting,
to grasp your shoulder.
You’re not alone
in this fight.
Written Feb. 2013 by A Zingler
Reshaping Reality 