Plucked Heartstrings Gone Aloof

A lost woman is driven into turbulent waters her mind implodes before her. For her agonizing journey deepens, causing her to drift in and out of tranquility. It is eclipsed by her frailties strummed by her heart.
Plucked Heartstrings Gone Aloof
Source - https://pixabay.com/en/sunset-clouds-cloudscape-birds-1778991/

I treasure monumental heartstrings plucked against crevices gone aloof.

For the homage paid ten fold to oblong gateways burning up a hungry night encase me along your flowerbed.  However, there is a slit in my palm entrapping a wilted soul.

Its fire extorts chaotic visions from my jailed mind.  Is there ever a higher bombardment made by division.

Ask me of impalement, if you see fit to raise your smoke.  However, my reality is full of fire.  For my colors befound in soul are orange, a deep hue of blue, grey, and black mixed in with coarse ruby.

I don't know where my next

vision will take me.  At least a will to bestow fragrant field around my heart.

I wear my crown of rage with hints of anguish, but there is a resiliency found among the dead who march into pleading waters.

I'm strung around your neck in form of your tears; your holistic strand of pearls your cry.

For there is a sour note flavored with sweet, but there I partake of salt to burn my throat in delicious acidity determined to sanctify madness embroiling me.

Shake me awake, if you must.  However, I no longer fear emotional fire threatening my light.  Fire was my assailant in the outskirts of my past.  My rage marches on at bay, its power unleashed only when my fold descends into the deathstar.  

Temperature rises and falls.  My waters are calm; yet, remain infested


with turbulence.  I take in penetrating breaths, and release.

Savor childish melodies sung during pelting tithes.  I belong.  Night plots against seductive moonlight, enthralling me with confounding visions filled with a mother tucking her cheldren in bed.  They clutch their plush animals, and drift off to sleep.

For is no there no end to my fire?  No.  Not when my spirit is consumed by a walloping tier imploding me with rage.

I drift from day to day, getting carried up the stairwell towards an offering made by an assailant.  For he drops a rose behind my gravestone.  I look on dumbfounded.  My well of knowledge floods over, cleansing my soul, and revitalizes my spirit.

For if only I weren't confounded by relics beating me down.  Solid fun is not enough.  For the humor life commits to drowns me.

Jaded by the light, a tear falls from your statuesque eyes, bestowing with it empowerment.  For I'm guided by your lulling heart.  My hazy mind shifts, adding a drop of sunlight.



Article Written By Joanna Maharis

BA degree/Creative Writing from Western Michigan University. had 8 book publications: 4 paperback and 4 in Kindle format.

Posted on 30-06-2017 2 0

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