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A Poem To Help You Stand Face To Face With Your Own Burdens

18 de mayo de 2018

Cultura Colectiva

Some burdens are meant to be shared, others are kept for your eyes only.



Jacob Arasim is a young writer and a student at the Boise State University. Arasim believes poetry is especially important as a medium to elevate experiences, an art form to expand on self-growth, nature, and storytelling. His sources of inspiration reflect his own life as a young, thriving college student. He draws from his existential crises of the twenties and all those relatable moments that challenge and sometimes boost his journey as a young writer.




THE BURDEN


Remembering the first and the last

Of overbearing affection, now the past

The tulips parted with uneasy drear

And over the horizon, the sun delivered fear.

Like quicksand my qualms anticipated

To drag me under, how I’ve miscalculated;

With every phantom of every nightmare

I slipped and fell, pursuing without care.

Flowers, music, love, it all sat bountiful

Inside a bed now a molded coffin horrible.

Twice upon this same established love

The other so flew away my gorgeous dove;

Now eternal Winter wakes, a drought of misery

To sleep alone and live a frosty travesty.

Just as Hamlet dealt a poisonous wound

From a blade of black deceit consumed.

Even so a kingdom, Denmark, still saved

And another wall my gentle heart it paved.

“When I woke up to you sleeping”

It was the start of a new ending

Another morning, the tedious daily grind

But a discovery I’ve yet to find

With milk white skin so smooth

And long, red hair that hindered truth.

I was awake but disparage was on par

Blood-ridden tissue and decay, like a dying star

However a relationship sought so close

And yet so far, it was an act to pose.

“Betrayal” they say, “a demon with looks”

With a piece of that organ she took.

Although Joel, she “drowns in good intentions”

I’ve exposed my cries, my fury, my confusions

We were annihilated by a barrel of fire;

A tinder box of irrational tact, wrought evil transpire.

In our worst we still strove as the best

Despite our lies, silence, a calamity jest.

Now trapped in this void of collapsing skies

Where scrapers of memories and happiness dies

Hence, call forth the Burden, a creature astronomical

Slender, a silent fellow, and his height so comical

Wreckless in nature with black, glistening eyes sunken

Although slow in approach, always trudgin’.

Destroying what was real and hopeless fantasy

Filtering with mindless anger and sadness, it took fancy

To bring back its home of a cracked and dry eternity

By raising internal destruction equivalent to Trinity.

Soaking up this poison and this rage flowed

Inside the soul that felt what the Burden showed.

Isolated in a never-ending loophole of purgatory

Suicide would make a better ending to this story.

It’s a place we call home but never wish to return

Albeit a visit required, lest the lot of heartburn.

We must face the Burden and its self-harm

And encounter it with a strong, tender arm,

With forgiveness to eradicate the blaze

Only to turn to Paradise without a hint of faze.

Over dry, brown grass of corpse soil

Smothered in ice, slowly melting away the toil

Subdued by barricading, warm sheltering rays

The clear, liquefied sublimity, of remedying ways;

Sprout forth a field of jade, as if never touched

Providing cushion for these broken joints crutched.

Here I awake in the warmth of my bed forlorn

Alone, stranded on a boat in this gorgeous morn’.

Will I extend and test another dip so daring?

No rush, all the time in the world, no one’s glaring.

Now the sea remains calm, a rippling, tranquil masseuse

The long, bearable wait begins, for my singing muse.


**


Photos by  @shainadaina



TAGS: Poetry Writing
SOURCES:

Cultura Colectiva


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