Horrific and apprehensive
Inevitable
that something of any darker form
will strike you like a sandstorm in the darkest of deserts
It may not even be the gray dust clouds that fill your eyes
that everyone talks about
It may not shoot off tears from the highest skies and
crashes of bright scary lights
Sometimes the worst isn’t what everyone says
The skies may carry the calm tone of stone,
but it’s heavy and wrong,
and you forgot how to breathe just
as the elderly may forget how to live
Little do people know that it’s not
simply Fate
that controls whether or not you draw out of that
damned dry sauna
but it really comes down to you
You’re the one with the worn and
weary feet that can walk over
the crunchy broken shells
and obsidian
It hurts
By God!
It hurts too much,
but soon perhaps those dust clouds may clear
and the weeping rocks of the sky
stop falling down on your distressed mind and soul
Maybe even turn the color wheel from its cold shades
to something of a warmer and friendlier sight
It can be something so intriguing
that even the weariest of travelers may stop and
admire the wonders of this inevitable, cursed,
haunting
feeling
You draw yourself out of the sandstorm
Not everybody knows that Fate isn’t the controller of all
You can survive with sunken lungs,
wispy gone eyes,
and lips that haven’t met a nice ounce of water,
a kiss of hope,
a blessing of happiness
You can survive with your soul falling
through your spindly fingers
like water
But you choose if you want to live
knowing what color that sky will turn to
how comfort and calm may look on you,
and what a smile actually tastes like