Saviour

I can’t force the rebirth

-

I can’t make it happen for you

-

I can’t remove the shackles

with my worn out hands

-

I am not your saviour

-

I am using my callouses

to block my porous holes

-

to stop myself

from bleeding out

-

my body heavy,

hard to move

hard to lift

hard to live.

-

I can’t keep seeing your cage

and having to stand, helpless,

having to stand, useless,

having to stand it.

-

Your possessions are still bloody,

all that we left behind remains

now engulfed by a shadow, sometimes more

like a cloud which follows

our every living moment, mostly ignored

but occasionally unearthed and freed to

wreak havoc once more, to cause its fiercest whirlwind yet

to disintegrate the years we spent trying to build new peace,

new life, new lives, new homes, new quiet, new bodies,

a new new, a new future

-

but instead

I’m bleeding out again

-

and my worn out arms remain in use

busier with other things

-

as you become a shadow

as you fall further away

-

my body not growing

but slowly rotting, turning weaker,

-

the spirit exhaled and smoke taken back

a slow erosion, a slow osmosis

-

a slow, pained death

watching you go first

-

and wishing it were me

-

over and over, reliving the moment

until it has its hands

-

firmly around my throat

all the lost time that I sought out

-

dropped with a thud

and rose like the wildest tsunami

-

above me,

body frozen and awestruck.