Much of what is written here is poetry, but there are prose pieces interspersed, all written by Michael Wayne Holland. Also, there are blog entries from further back about living with post traumatic stress disorder. Full range of topics are fleshed, much based on life experiences, and much observed and imagined. I believe there is an internal truth to the writings, fiction or non-fiction.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Disintegration
Disintegration
Liquid whispers turn into shimmering shouts on a dime,
leaving me thoroughly bewildered and afraid.
My heart pounds thunderously threatening to bolt
from my body on to a sticky train track as it assumes
its fate: defeated, flattened, damaged.
I ought to offer you thanks for uncovering things
now rather than later, but the pain is
palpable, viable, present,and it threatens my growth.
The throat has a liquid lump, and my belly expands
like pulled taffy, engorging, leaving me to fight for a breath
that will maintain sustenance. And the sweet tears
find me at my loneliest, at night in charcoal darkness,
underneath stifling sheets that tentatively
offer solace, comfort. I apologize for mistakes
not made,and you apologize in a moment
of pulverized clarity.
“Apology accepted”, I find myself saying.
Why is that I feel farther from you than Neptune’s breath
or Mercury’s fickle ways? Accepting what is in brilliant sunlight
or fragile shadows leaves invisible scars and a frayed ego,
things that can be repaired in time, but never forgotten.
It is in my nature to ask why. Why? I desire closure
that will not come, the closure required to move on, but rigid reality
plays her trump card, and I resign that I’ve been played yet again.
The truth stares at me, smiling her wicked smile, '
and still I wonder: what now? What now?
Only I can answer, and still I ask: what now?
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Ugh...see repost above!
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