FUTILE

I tire of love and terrorism;
the way my broken heart
lay claim to territory unknown before;
the way the softness of these blankets
fall like bombs in your wake;
the way the hunger for calm strikes and
starves and
feeds in rations;
the way the post trauma stands guard at closed eyes
and charges ahead when I wake;
the way it loops itself about my mushroom cloud
and belts its breath on my cheek.
I tire of scratching at hope like
hope will reward me for lasting the week.
I grow weary of this kamikaze daze:
my eyes, the reflection of every wound I bare.

I tire of love and terrorism:
the way my broken heart ignites from within,
limp and lost,
from so much exploding without.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 12 July, 2017

2 comments

  1. Wow, I see your creative juices exploding in your juiced up awakening everversal mind. The connection is strong and your skill flows everlong – in a world so wrong, it seems only right. That creatives stand strong, that creatives unite.

    The light at the end of the tunnel and the darkness around us prevailing because of human evil, seems to go hand in hand with the growing energies of mystically whimsical people, around the globe, I see them in energy form. Like a bubbling water droplet flowing along or out of a conscious cellular faucet. For we are here and we are awesome, the awesome humans in defence of an earth in peril. Our world – our mother, is in need and truly, I believe we exist because of the manifestation of planetary magic, the upper echelon of some semi universal mind. A connective mysticism from outside of space and time.

    Liked by 1 person

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