Innermost

A gentle massaging grasp

Constricts tighter

Releases hold

As gentle motions

Relax the guard

An even flow

Washing softly

Caressing

Until…

Complete release, pouring freely

Flooding the plains of passion

Growth explodes the canvas

All the colors are nourishing

Life is flourishing and fruits

Eden births for the inner most

But…

“Where are you?”

In the empty vessel of possibilities

Truth washed away

As the floods of red

Blood stained youth

Tapped from the nipple of innocence

Was sold to the highest bidder

The empty plains of regret

The voids and darkness

Complete despair

Starved out the inner most

Who could no longer see

For the reflection of desolation

Blinded the inner most

As the stenching taste

Rotting fruits of labor in love lost

Diseased the inner most

While the whispers

Raked thunderously

Upon the inner most

Until…

The explosion of red

Stained the inner most

The fires of hell

Burned away the foundation

Of reality’s facade

Disclosed truths crushed

All that supports or can fair

Such a storm of torrid rage

Lying in the aftermath

No sense left to the inner most

Except feeling

A multitude of feelings

Grasping tighter

Not releasing

But strangling

Yet, at the same time,

Holding on to all that is left

The inner most struggles,

With the feelings,

And wanders away…

Meanwhile Eden waits

Bearing fruits

Of labors in love won

And wonders…

“Will my fruits rot?”

~

DBrown Fisher

© May 1993