Becoming

In this I have become
Plucked from sanity’s embrace
Ungrounding, unfurled
Wrought from fever and disgrace
In each step through
Cinder and ash, my becoming
Awoken on the edge
Of a creeping tide, overtaken
Suspended above watchful eyes
The breaking sounds of rancid bread
Quenching malnourished tendons
To form what stands before you
It spreads like disease
To the most sacred of places
Here, where once sought respite
Now gives way to a blackened
State of nothing
To let go of the something
Once held in defiance of waking
These things which rip at me
When I dare to close my eyes
A vengeful reminder
That what I have become
Is without beginning or end
Void of solace and sweet repose
Wrapped in sleepless hours
Drowning in the swirling eddy
Of an unsettled mind


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75 comments

  1. This sounds to me like an agonizing stage of going through the motions, only able to do the bare minimum to keep oneself sustained; not exactly to live but to keep on existing.

    I enjoyed immersing myself in the words. Lovely write ❤️

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Oh this is excellent. The unsettled mind more acute during a sleepless night. Had a few of those myself… Anyway, love it.

    And as a little aside: when I saw the title I thought maybe you had read had reviewed Michele Obama’s biography! 😜

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s kind of you to say, but I wouldn’t look at things that way. You have a talent at expressing a great many things with your words. We are all different but equal in value.

      Like

  3. As far as I can see, you’ve created your own form of poems, something that’s only yours and in your style. I like that very much. And this construction of verses, I can’t lay my finger on it and give it a name. Very interesting.

    The verses are great and everybody comments on that, I tried to look at whole thing a bit more curiously. Fun stuff, even though it’s a bit dark. Keep at it, Commander Dixon.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. River. Just wow. It’s like you opened a secret door I keep heavily locked inside the darkest place of my mind, looked at it and turned it into something beautiful. What Scriberly wrote so well is pretty much where I’ve been since Ben disappeared. And, yeah, I know it’s not all about me. But wow I could relate. That’s the beauty of this. A lot of us can relate to pain like this, at least in some point of our lives. This poem is stunning. I don’t know if you’ve experienced the teeth of depression or grief or despair, but this poem reads like you have — big time. If you’ve walked around on this planet long enough, you must have. It’s not my business. Poetry isn’t about the details. It’s about taking the huge, overwhelming feelings and making them soar. Like this poem. This really touched me today. It’s been a rough couple of months. Thank you. ♥.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It’s futile to try and quantify or compare suffering, but I can’t even imagine what you have/are going through. I’ve had my share of things but nothing that could compare to losing a child. I’m deeply sorry for what has happened to you and your family. But I thank you for leaving this comment. Connecting with someone, even if through the darkness, is what all this is about for me. Take care.

      Liked by 1 person

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