The Shadow's Splinter

The shadow’s splinter
pierces
my vein of hope

and weaves
a permanent stitch of pain
upon my skin.

The disease of suffering
penetrates,
hardens,
melts,
and numbs my heart.

The shadow wound
is a void-less vortex.

I am a ghost
in this world of despair.

My invisible pleas
propel the splinter
upward–
choking my lungs,
scraping tissue,
and scaring my voiceless voice.

Silence and pain
prayerfully thrush
the splinter through my brain.

Tension and life ooze
like puss
posing as a scab.

The false crusted scab
is a weak and temporary comfort.

Soon the splinter
will split the scab

And all will fall and bleed.

You’ve suspected the vexing absence of smoothness or symmetry in the cancerous shadows that engulf us, a blind ivy invading even the most heroic masonry. One only hopes to collect the hopevein’s blood in a grail and preserve it in cryogenic crystalin slumber until the splinter reposes into black sawdust blowing east in search of smaller photons. Then with the thawed blood of hope we may nourish some manner of armor-petaled flower leaning toward secret sun.

Although I tried to resist commenting on your comments, I am weak and cannot. I love the idea of “thawed blood of hope” and “armor-petaled flower” and “black sawdust blowing east in search of smaller photons.” Thanks I think.

Weak, no, not you. Resisting would have been weak. Your visions of hopelessness are beautiful and challenging. They invite counterpoint.