15319260_10202291446205021_9072796197672683666_nConversely, paradoxically it has come to
envying the mania
a relief from sorrow
where creation can once more grow
unimpeded by sloth of emotion
covering us like autumn leaves bury unaware
I suffocate every time the heavy hand comes around
and when it is gone I come up for air
but the passage between light and dark is not extreme
not like the mercurial soul who soars high above themselves
I watch them fly so far
I can never muster that much
my energy is a stone well without water
during the darkness hibernation
and when the light shines it only
lightly pierces
like a ray not even sufficient for hope
will wake the sleeping from their nightmare
long enough to know
yes there is another world out there
but you with your rubber gloves around your head
cannot plug yourself in
you are restrained by the amount of light
weak and far ahead
where angels fear to tread
and mania dances hedonistically
with the beauty of her temperature

0 Replies to “With the beauty of her temperature”

  1. Your posts only just showed up in my reader, Candice.
    This image is stunning.
    this poem is stunning. I didn’t realise you suffered with this? I don’t know what to say. xo

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