The Beating

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My heart sits still in the thick darkness
The ever-present rhythm silenced
For a fleeting moment I see the glow beyond myself
Shining in cold night I listen for a noise
A single sound
Piercing my inmost reverie, the calm serenity of the pond,
Up in ripples of pain, cascading beyond the surly tempest
That rages within
The droplet falls, emotions splatter like milk on the floor,
Covered with pearls of irony
I cease the endless mumbling, for it only brought
The moon to my face.
I cannot see beyond the silver streamings of the window
And yet
yeet
I wander along cracked floorboards
Feeling the splinterous rasp of sorrows
Icy cold drafts rake my cheeks
Smoke, stale in the eve, stings my pale eyes
I reach out, a tentative finger into the mire
Effort of reason
Explanation
The probe seeks for warmth
Comfort of senility
Freeness of the heartbeat
Cut off is the seeking
Stilled
Quenched
The searing gouge lasts only for a minute
And the pain dulls, eases
But the scar lasts for years.


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www.nathanpralle.com
Unauthorized distribution is prohibited except with written permission of the author.