The consuming ache has locked
away the keys to my heart and soul.
The door did not close with a bang,
but with a whispered click. This
abandoned church-tower body,
its bricks bulging on one side,
and missing on the other,
plays a tenuous balancing act
not so much of “Will he fall?”
but more “How is he still standing?”
There is duty involved in
a building’s remaining upright.
You might see an oh-so-slightly
canted pile of steel and glass,
wood and brick, muscle and bone.
I see and I feel the pain and strain
of spine waiting for an end.
That is unless I find another way
to break in and rescue the keys
and true-up this imagination again.
Blew out my back and the pain and strain locked away my ability to create and even imagine. I couldn’t allow that to happen after I had released it from its 35-year stint of solitary confinement. This free-write is my first attempt to set it free again.