A Brighter Spark

A poem about personal growth as I undergo recovery, and change from boy to man.

With the endless knowledge

of youthful rebellion,

I wanted to burn.

I longed, 

in the vast course of history,

for my life to become

a fantastic pyroclasm 

which split the night.

But the brightest candle is the first

to burn out.

An infinitesimal twinkle

in the language of stars,

returning light years away

to the fathomless hollows of dark.

I wanted to burn

bright enough that the gods would notice me.

But which flame makes the greater mark?

A blistering inferno

that razes a forest to the ground,

or the steadily burning wood-stove

that warms a family through the frigid winter.

I have found my answer.

have you found yours?

I've been accused of throwing

alcohol and gasoline on my emotions.

Malcontent to live in each moment as it came.

I wanted more...

More coffee, 

more women, 

faster cars, 

longer sex, 

hotter food, 

more alcohol.

I watched the world,

flooded with such intensity

my eyes became welder's goggles.

So blinkered to the world

that only an eclipse 

could penetrate them.

I fueled my body with drugs

and sex

and caffeine

and whiskey.

My four-cylinder heart was an engine,

pumping more fuel than blood.

I was a walking train wreck,

cruising for a James Dean highway disaster.

I was standing 

waist deep in my own grave,

But shovel clenched in my shaky arthritic hands,

I hungered for more.

It felt as if I hadn't slept in a year.

My lidded eyes drooped

flush and bloody like a crime-scene photo.

The darkened sockets bruised

carrying baggage for the trip of a lifetime.

I've always thought New York and I

had a lot in common.

"The City That Never Sleeps."

I can relate.

My mind is stuck on 5 AM rush hour

and I didn't know how to stop,

but I knew I was going to crash.

So I'm packing up my bags

and setting down the bottle.

This Sunday

will be thirty days,

for the first time in years,

with no drugs coursing through my veins.

I keep praying that one day,

they will stop coursing through my head.

For the first time

I'm choosing not to burn,

but to shine.

 

Reviews

[TLK]

The first stanza sets up something unusual. The opposition of 'endless' and 'burn' is very antagonistic. This is intensified with 'pyroclasm' -- what is supposed to be endless is not the existence, but the message of the self-destruction. I think you have found a very hot, bursting, metallic way of saying this.
You ruminate on this in a more mature way in the second stanza. The way you 'telescopic zoom' from a candle to a star is quite dizzying. "infinitesimal twinkle" is a nice touch, it brings a distant coldness that promises something else apart from the phosphorus-bright burning you started with.
This rather galactic image becomes much more human in staza three -- the second line is of great note here. There is another conflict -- does the rebel want to burn for himself, for a message, or for approval? Many questions are asked here, many evaluations are possible. This is a work that I had to read slowly.
The direct question that forms the axis that the poem spins around is yet another shift. I think that this poem is more than just a question: I would genuinely be interested in peoples' responses.
The rest of the poem seems to be your personal answer. From this, I really fixated on "James Dean highway disaster", which is a very direct and unsentimental image.
The turning point of the grave (which you yourself is digging) has all the loamy earthiness that you could hope for... and is an amazing place to end up after a journey through such a large amount of possibility.


The most powerful line of all, for me, is "they will stop coursing through my head". It gives a sense of the damage and disarray possible when you try to outdo yourself until your very sinews threaten to strangle you.]


I've taken a lot from this poem, and I have a feeling I will come back in the future to read it again.

[TLK]

Just to prove that you prompted something, as if my thoughts above are not enough:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/TLK/1174739/

Thanks for the inspiration.

[Emily B]

wishing you all the best in your journey

edgar lee masters said in his poem silence that 'if he could describe it all, he would be an artist but if here an artist there would be deeper wounds which he could not describe

we have to remember to be kind to ourselves

[Firefly]

This poem, although beautiful, is filled with sadness and self-destruction, i believe this is a great representation of a journey from a decade long death and a second long awakening. You portrayed the link between destruction and survival fantasticly. Excellent job, not just on the poem. Well done.

[lyss]

I remember you writing this and I'm so proud of you and how far you've come. A beautiful poem to tell an amazing story, keep it up. :)

[Crimson Bayonet]

Really great poem. Awesome job :)