Delusions of a previous life
sometimes creep into my mind
leaving a tingling in my emotional heart.
I feel a draw to the vices
of the destructive genius,
living raw poetry.
A cold glass of fire,
a haze filled room,
full of the lost and lonely.
All that it takes is a song,
a smell, a person, a touch,
a sight, a sound, a thought,
which had been packed tightly,
far back in the recesses of my mind,
beyond my salvation,
in a distant land that I once called home.
I sometimes yearn for the embrace
of the constricted, dark, suffocating womb,
but why?
Is it not better to see the sun,
feel its warmth on my face,
breath the fresh air of life,
swim in love and joy,
pure and free?
What is the draw to a faux reality
that almost killed me,
made me bitter and unwelcome,
filled me with despair,
turned me into someone that I am not?
I lean on grace,
bathe in truth,
find wisdom in one all knowing,
and dare not look back
lest I turn into a salty tear,
alone, falling to a hard, uncaring earth.
Now awake,
I shall not live in a twisted dream
that I can not control.
I embrace the lucidity of the day
and no longer traverse beyond the sunset,
to the land of distant delusions.
