The Raven
It feels like I’m dying
It’s in my chest, the withering feeling
I think it’s my soul
It sinks further daily
It’s a darkness pulling, yanking, dragging
My heart doesn’t dance often anymore
It races; panicked
My mind races; panicked
It feels like I’m dying
Like my soul is drowning
I search constantly for ways to save it
That’s what we do, right?
Survive?
Tread water, force ourselves to the surface, gasp for air?
I’ve watched people do it
Survive heartbreak and trauma and devastation far worse than
mine
It can be done
I keep searching
I tell myself this is just another test
Of my strength
I’ve had this test before and survived
I had another very similar test many years ago
Where I lost the life I thought I had and was forced to
replace the lies
With a truth
I was broken, but I survived
We all find ways to survive
Lies
Betrayal
I took my dad to lunch the other day
I watch how frail he has become with age
He walks with a cane
But his shirts are starched and his jeans are pressed with a
seam down each leg
His eyes search the ground with each step
Fear of falling or tripping
His sight is failing him
His mind remains strong
He moves slowly but keeps moving
He lost his wife two years ago
He’s lonely
But his shirts are starched, and his jeans are pressed
He keeps moving
Into the final days of his life
Surviving
There was a raven that often came to my yard day after day
A black bird
An omen I think
“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird
will fall frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”
That is a favorite line from a poem
I have inked on my arm
I love the sentiment
I need to send this message to my soul over and over again
My soul is not really dying
I am simply drowning myself in self-pity
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