The year was…

The year was 2005
an explosion rocked
the quiet neighborhood
of my emotions
afterward, wiping debris off
seeing my reflection, a soot covered mask
I could not hear anything anymore
except the ringing of my heart
which beat far too fast
anxiety
got me
by the throat
and choked
the peace
out
like a burlap bag and lump of coal can still burn in snow
it took years to mend
like piecing a broken bowl with slim chain of gold
smoothing cracks that have become so used
to remaining fissures
and even then, a hair-line fracture exists
permitting a little light
disturbance
felt in darkness as you turn
trying to dream
when trauma
explodes bombs
in your quiet space
it’s not the sound you lose
but the belief that anything
will ever
be okay again
yet there is a lesson learned
in suffering we survive
in survival we know
next time
if there is a next time and there always is
we may lament and hurt
fall to our knees as debris rains down
but surely afterward, we will stand again
that is the enduring legacy
of survival
and even betrayal
and even death
does not contain enough
to outwit our yearning
to outfox the determining
steel hand of fate
slapping us down
we rise like Atlantic waves in August
will conjure wet inferno, juxtaposing
energies like herculean warriors
in great walls of dark water
hitting each other until there is nothing
but smooth glass remaining
and a fever tells us
it is over
for now
with wobbling legs we
survey the wreckage
of ourselves
realizing with pain comes
a long after-tow and if
you hang on long enough
the sun
breaks
through
low-lying
clouds
warming those
who believed themselves
expired
~Candice Daquin

**Image found on Pinterest

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