Linger… Dwell…
Deep in my mind is a forest,
A tree for every person,
Their time with me etched into the wood.
I follow the path in my mind,
Lingering on trees of sadness,
Of moments to repeat if I could.
Some trees are large and green.
Foliage bushelled all around.
Covered in stories, feeding an abundance of history.
Others are small,
Beginning,
Branches whiskery.
A path of light through the trees of love.
Greenery as far as the eye can see.
Fertilizer made from tender loving care.
Hidden parallel,
A mysterious creek,
Rocks and trees of despair.
Which path will my mind take,
Tonight, in my bed,
As I wander through my thoughts?
I rarely choose light,
Instead, sophistry.
I choose the path of rocks and bad history.
I dwell inside the creek,
Whispers in the murky water flow.
Reminding myself of the dark memories of woe.
I pick a tree of past delights,
Of sins and clandestine adventures.
Ignoring how it ended in misery,
Focusing on craving-quenchers.
I read and feel the waves crashing down the creek.
The anguish rising as I speak.
Re-enacting the past as if it will heal the deep cracks in my trees,
I pray to a god I don’t believe, desperately begging on my knees.
Cure my insatiation!
My beast’s invasion.
My devil's penetration of my heart.
There are so many demons to choose from:
Some found,
Some made,
Some created in pursuit of light.
Monsters with masks,
With eerie smiles,
With sinister laughs,
All awaiting a renewed fight.
I choose to walk through this water and the past.
I choose to hear the eerie laughter.
I choose to see the sinister smiles.
Instead of light I choose fight.
Why?
Why do I linger here?
Forever stuck in the debilitating wretchedness of dejection,
Avoiding the sanguinity of my outside persona that fills others with joy that builds beautiful, dense paths of evergreens trickled with sunlight.
Why do I choose the flood prone waters of turmoil?
Of “be kind-rewind” horror movies with gore?
Hearts being ripped from chests without remorse,
Of breath being taken away, first by hope, then by hands around the neck.
The sun’s rays try their best to break through the clouds that billow above.
They add to the raging waters below when they cry down on dying trees.
Trees that long to be chopped down and turned into beings of joy,
Instead, they remain frail,
They remain vestibules of the deepest and saddest times in a life lived hard.
And hardly.
A life of two paths indifferent to each other, connecting in sections that bind the same trees.
Roots that lead to both spaces and connect moments that try to remain separated.
Distinct and yet same.
They remain.
The forest of my mind, heart, soul.
Of it I am not in control.
I am a visitor that lingers,
That dwells,
That is overcome by its menacing spell.
I do not wish to open my eyes or walk the path of light-filled cobblestone and little shrubs that represent all the joy I have felt along my years of travel through time.
I wish to close my eyes tightly and go canyoning up the river of sorrow and pay for my mistakes, to relive the choices I would make again and again.
Would you come with me if you could?
Would you hold my hand as our feet crossed from rock to boulder and back to rock?
Would you jump into the puddle with the unknown depth of hurt and longing?
If I open my eyes, will you hold my hand and walk with me through life knowing the pain I carry?
I know you would. You do. Every day you stay strong and stoic in the face of my unwavering choice to disappear back into the forest of my mind whenever I close my eyes.
You hold my hand and never let go.
You do not dwell as you know I must.
You do not judge when you see me revisit.
I am to forever linger.
I am to forever dwell.
I am me.