I saw my life through a chandelier and realized no one was there.
It was as if I had awaken suddenly, alone on top of a hill.
The pretty lights, the flashing lights were all out of sight.
Fading like a failing vein, but everything was so bright.
Music gone. Where did it go, as silence falls like a storm.
I feel a pressure, around my heart. A feeling I can’t ignore.
Am I awake, or do I sleep. Am I really Me.
I say to myself as I feel above myself. A light turn on for me.
I see the teardrops where you once stood. But you are no longer there.
I see darkness up above. It reminds me of dark black hair.
Stains upon a window pane paint a picture of pain so fine.
And there we sit, a distant past, our love lost in the fire.
Tear drops falling from above seem to remind me of that love.
They fall between my fingertips and remind me of parted lips.
I painted sadness on a wall with my tears. Painted fears to remember myself by, I become a shadow on a wall. I traced lines of myself till I saw myself. Until I’d drawn all the parts of me.
I looked beyond the need to see deep inside of me. To a place where I can be, I can finally see me.
How happy we are when we get past the shade. That line of shadow we see the world, our fears are on display.
Do we close our eyes or open wide, our thoughts and our minds. Do we go outside or climb inside, hiding from time.
I’ve reached a hand, a single hand, and grasped a ray of light. It is my lifeline, my only guide, as I walk without sight.
Can I stop a heartbeat and make it sing to me.
A fighting felt for the beat, deep inside of me.
I can taste the desire past the fire in my lungs.
I no longer feel tired as feelings leave like a song.
Acceptance comes with a sudden dawn.
Can I accept a day done that has never been won…
Would I ever know a cause.
That sheds a light past the light.
And cease this neverending fall.
By putting myself in a fight.
Can I carry this banner.
This great display of our dismay.
I wave it above the clamor.
Our deed in open display.
Should I share your concern.
Your words, not mine.
What will I have earned?
Must be the last thought of mine.
Jason C. Cushman