Strength

Just my rambling, run on mind.

Hands… once thought to be strong… I once viewed them that way… that just couldn’t hold on to it… just couldn’t clutch it tight enough… burned as it slips from me… from my grasp… leaving only the raw, red burns of what I held. They seem so weak now… wrists broken… strength diminished… dead… or maybe that’s my heart.
In sleep finding peace… finding joy… swooning over possibilities and opportunities… chances… close to it… tasting it… damp… sweating on my skin… making me… shaping me… clutching it to me… holding it with the embrace only gods can know…
Then waking to find you are the weak… that you are lost… that the dream has passed and it was just that… a dream… a cataract… shapes and sounds without definition… a whisper in the winds and rain that is barely audible… seldom heard… then gone in the gale. Leaving hell in puddles… grey and brown… dirty… the kind of hell that is real… no lakes of fire… no chains of ice… just grey… brown… dirty and awful… sinless and stainless… going on and on… the kind of hell that Dante never knew… to which Crowley never prescribed… but of which we all have a bit inside… that spills from our skies occasionally.
Only the man free from strife and kisses and dreams goes on and on… going… not wandering… purposeful… fixed… but in motion. When a person has trusted themselves entirely to the unknown… to a dream… an idea… and they are lifted up… and as a god empowered… bringer of storms….. the waking is a disastrous, unholy… cold, dark light… a lit up shaft of rain on the horizon… just out of reach…a rose tree bronzed by thorns that rips the flesh…. A rainbow of 2 colors… love and hate… and you are a creature born of drama and conflict… a mixture yea and nay… a calling… yearning… column of blood and meat… nothing more… nothing less…… strife… kisses and dreams….. wandering…..
We know ourselves and that we are mortal… but I say know yourself and deny that you are mortal… drama and conflict…. rivers are born this way… oceans and tides… the winds… back and forth… but of beautiful peace… know yourself… in denial of mortality… in mortality is weakness… in slumber and peace… godlike strength we pray will bleed into our waking…. That nothing will slip from or burn your hands again.
Clutching desires and love to you in a crushing embrace… less the meat sack more the machine… a machine of peace, solace, love and strength….. A machine that in itself is nothing… but in purpose and strength, a god….. never wandering… never failing… fixed… yet in motion. Never defeated or dragged down by pain… never darkened by loss… pain… strife…. kisses… dreams… but holding them all in its grasp… strong, powerful hands…

Reviews

[Muse]

Strength cannot be measured by sequence...time...nor fate. Strength can be your nemesis if you depend on it too heavily. Be weak for once, and "see yourself" as a fallible soul. All of us, including you can be broken.

but

with the power of hope...

we can find strength

that is too fearless to be broken.

[Lucifer Jones]

Beautifully put. Thank you so much Muse.

[Muse]

of course my friend. xo

[Muse]

Strength cannot be measured by sequence...time...nor fate. Strength can be your nemesis if you depend on it too heavily. Be weak for once, and "see yourself" as a fallible soul. All of us, including you can be broken.

but

with the power of hope...

we can find strength

that remains to be fearless

when unspoken.