Strength

This meaningless word we have attached a value to is not for the butchering of others. It is not for the world around us to hear or know, for them to see or feel, for them to have or hold. This word that we have so arrogantly bestowed a meaning upon is for us to see, and us alone. This term that tends to dictate the worth of a person was regrettably created by us, for us, with us. We sense it’s being inside our own, it’s counterpart a black fog clouding our judgement. We can try to build on it, fortify our walls both mentally and physically, increase the never ending figurative defenses that layer our minds. However no good could ever come of such foolish acts. All walls have cracks, all armies have flaws, all minds have a darkness within them. We can layer on as many masks as one would be pleased to wear, the plastic hardening after time, molding to skin. We can try to shed them layer by layer, confusion lying only when one no longer knows which is the mask, and which is the face. But while we are building these defenses, making false guises of this word, we are only letting the fog fester in our minds, its reign stretching further until the time it can consume us. The fog wishes for us to seek for help, something it can grasp onto, something for comfort. However the masks could only ever restrict such a notion. For we have doomed ourselves to this life of eternal solidarity, our minds refusing other hands as we grasp for something in this falling pit. We do not wish for the help of others, our sense of this distasteful word ruining our judgment in a more distracting way than a mere cloud. We fear that some of those hands may be fake, illusions in the dark, grasping at air as we tumble further and further into the crevice. But we must pray, we must hope that there is one hand, one that will hold on, one that will stop our rapid descent. We must hold tight to that hand, for it is that hand that will pull away the masks for us, that can plough through armies and break down walls. It is that hand that will show us that the black fog was never really so black, and that every once in a while, this meaningless word really isn’t as meaningful as our deluded minds imagine it to be.

Author's Note

I'm very new to the poetry side of writing, so any feedback is well appreciated!

Reviews

[LeeAnne Elizabeth]

Nice piece. Nice use of imagery and metaphors. However, it probably would be better if it was broken into stanzas and if it was shorter. It does seem a bit long and drawn out. But other than that, it's nice. :)

[Katie]

That makes sense, I should probably have given it some more space for reading ease, as well as giving the reader a break. And I'll definitely try to keep my pieces shorter, I tend to ramble on after a while :)

Thank you so much for reviewing!

[LeeAnne Elizabeth]

You're welcome. :)