The Burning

Seething anger,

a hot coal

held tight

despite the pain.

Refuse to release.

Hold it; watch it burn away the delicate layers of my hand.

My body aches for a comfort that will never come.

Cascades of tears

the mind begs for a smother of balm;

seeping and oozing

consuming

every inch, every fiber, every atom.

My being gnaws

to release the tension; soothe the burn.

I examine the sooty benign black rock.

Once lit it will burn endessly;

a glowing ember in pursuit of reformation.

How will I be reformed?

Not by choice, for certain.

Time slides and

the coal burns.

The pain,

constant,

steady,

adaptation is paramount

until the wind changes;

oxygen reigniting

the dark, painful burden in my palm.

Fantasies emerge rapidly.

Kernels of wish and want

explosions of desire

for a life free of pain;

full of love.

With ardor and authenticity

the coal burns brighter still.

Fueled

my instincts beckon

DrOp It.

I remain planted, firm,

soil rolling in mounds over my feet.

Tendrils of grasses wrap up my calves.

Rooted inperpetuity,

anchored to this world

I am destined to hold this coal.

I know nothing else.

Disruption and destruction

of my planting

release

will bring the unknown,

along with the possibility

of unimagined pain;

horrors of loneliness

far worse than this purgatory.

Trade.

I beseech you.

My heart begs for freedom

my mind can't release.

Rationalization comes,

how much more can I endure?

Therein lies the answer.

Planted, firm, I hold the coal

crippled and aching,

comforted by familiarity.