Poem: The Sting

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Yes, there is a sting
which comes and goes,
up and down,
a pleasure, a pain,
when the heart falls again.

The ache is awakening,
an etch within the walls
of the caverns in our chests,
and it evokes the highest of heavens,
though feels like the hallows of death.

The sensation is divine and animal all at once,
as it seems to want to claw its way out
from the center of the soul,
to be set free.

Yes, it tends to sting,
and sneaks upon us
like the Spring,
melting off the icy trees.

And ever does the fresh air intoxicate
as the flowers seduce the bees,
while spinning clouds
and thunder sounds
pull us up from our roots
so that we might look and see.

There’s lightning crashing between my lungs,
and oh, how it rains and ravages in me,

and it may flood and drown me down,
and it may rip me apart at the seams,
and it could even bust through me,
leave me upside down and weak,

but I will endure, I will survive
these seasons of searching,
of planting sacred seeds,
and coping with the sting.

Feature image: Almog Albalach – Interactive photography media ™ © All rights reserved 2011-2012.