The Moment Before

A whisper passes my lips, an attempt.

Words fumbling o’re tongue and teeth,

my hand on my chest, set to repress.

I inhale false confidence; my brow shrugs lowly,

conjuring determination from a pool of lies,

a pool of myths never able to quench a thirst.

 

Focused I begin, a piece of my soul lodged in my throat.

Two-way traffic on a one-way street, I implode.

My being and body shrink I feel bone crack, muscle contract.

I am less for a moment, empty and devoid, I recover.

Quickly recover as I have become accustomed,

each shock takes its toll; each failed escape drains the pool.

 

Waterfalls are most beautiful in solitude.

In silence save the water’s bright hum, choking ceases.

Moss grows on my cheeks; sweet secrets line my lips.

I fall on myself full force (like the water, the fall, and the rocky reality beneath).

The impact creates the mist, the beauty; still, each shock takes its toll.

I swallow, a shallow pool, a whisper passes my lips.