This is how I healed myself

Visions

“And you put potion in my tea.
It kills the faithless and resurrects the free”

I quarantined myself indoors.
My shadow parked in doorways.
I haunted the floorboards
and lusted the twilight.
I abstained from food and conversation.
This is the slumber.
It comes before salvation.

Then I lay and made by breath precise and low.
As I had been taught. As I had been taught,
I slowed my heartbeat to a pendulum
and stretched the outside minutes
into inner days and elongated shadows.
And I sense again:
my arms are warm and heavy
and my forehead cool.
There is a mask on my face
to smooth the anxious lines.
My mind is calm now,
my body is relaxed.

And I walked through each coloured room of my house.
I walked each coloured room,
and descended down the numbered floors twice.
I inhaled the memory of every colour.
I traced my finger along each number.
Then I descended into the basement.
The light is black but I can clearly see.
There is a room here.
The unnamed room where my spirit sleeps.

In that unnamed darkness
like many times before
I sat at the ancient cabinet,
covered in pen knife wounds.
It is covered in pen knife runes.
And I pulled out the puzzle-box drawers one by one
And I studied the jars, studied the jars.
Each jar holds something.

There is a jar with water. The water had clouded.
I cleaned the water and brushed the green strands
until the water was clear and light played in the glass.
Now my body is cleansed and my vision is clear.

There is a jar with a feather.
The feather sits heavy at the bottom, undisturbed by air.
I give it my breath and freely now it floats within the jar.
Now my mood is fine and my soul feels light.

There is a jar with a black sphere.
It bounces lazily against the walls as I lift it.
The sphere must float tightly in the centre,
held by springs of mind and purpose.
I force the sphere into the centre
and it rests there tight and loaded.
My mind returns to focus.

There is a glass cone.
Inside is clear liquid of fresh scent –
cucumber, watermelon, crushed leaves.
It is closed tightly.
I open the cap and let free the clean air
and the sweet anxiety of spring –
and I breathe the anticipation
of a sunny weekend’s freedom.

And I breath the sun that I have summoned.
I draw it in through my nose.
It rises heavy and warm like syrup.
I exhale it down to my stomach.
And my body floods with it
and it rushes from my stomach
in a giant column.
And the naked twisting beast
that has devoured my heart and liver
in its daily introspection of my cliff-top chains,
sees its death let loose from my drawn limbs,
and screams alone return to its devastated god.

I have taken your potion and it turns out that I am free.
My love, I am Prometheus. And I will give you light.

–   o   –

Best read as a follow-on from my previous post.  This is a bit of properly blank verse which is a bit of a rarity for me.  Rhyming this simply did not sound right , except for the first verse (although even there it’s an example of my “hidden rhyme” style).

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