Rejected

Rejected

© 1991 Lorne Laliberte

I contain my emotions at first,
But there comes as a thief
Something airy, running through and by,
And stealing swiftly pieces of my
Self-controlling conscience,
My consequence-aware and wary
Consciousness,
And I know even as I deny, know
Even as I so-devoted try,
That I will act. I will act;
And anger, red with pain
Or black with hatred, from
My sad and damaged heart will flow.

A pedal down,
Tires turn, a scream of them;
Passers-by surprised, alarmed,
Turn their heads and clutch their children.
But I rage on, and the tires are
My scream, they are my fist pounding
Through the stone I could not break
Or dare to.

A pedal down too far
But not yet far enough to vent
The mosaic storm aswirl within;
The fire so desparate to flame me,
Is doused by consequence's reign.
Half mad, but still half of me sane,
To home I ride the edge alone
And there replace the controlled mask
That hides rage from both face and self.

But anger leaves a heart like breath,
For words are spoken not without
An opening of mouth and soul
To echoes of the inner shout
Of pain reverberating. I bounce
Off others, touching them with grief,
Upset by both concern and lack of it.
Careening 'bout on tired legs
I retire, my battles badly pitched,
To solace, hidden in dimmed room,
Where I can see with lessened light
My true heart mirroring my gloom.
Despair it is that shakes me now,
That fills me full with hurt and pain,
I cry then and with loosed control
Threaten a more serious act
To shatter my heart's ever-brittle frame.

Outside, perhaps, the rage will spend
On wall or tree with axe, limb, bough;
I go and nothing find I there
But footsteps on a frozen ground.
There is no joy in crying here
There's no relief in tears of pain
A quiet walk, with nature's peace,
And I've returned inside again.

But my own thoughts I have to face,
To my own soul I must explain,
How can I go on ever here
Where dearest dreams are dreamt in vain?
Asleep, exhausted, hands unclench
And upwards all my grief does go,
To somewhere far from where I lay,
As lost as actions in the snow.

Awake, eyes open and I see
In sadness there has been a change:
What I thought would leave me weak
Has made me find my strength again.
Gilded then, I know so true,
While I but live no end is near.
I'll put my pen to page anew -
My will to write conquers my fear.