Chasing the Night

Failure hounds my bones
forcing its icy fingers over
the pores of my tattered skin.
I feel the contraction of anonymity
and pulse with the hatred of the
rejected. I can't seem to find the
light, flailing consistently for something
to anchor my spiral. It haunts me,
my hair stands as this shadow stalks
my every move, mocking the light
for which I follow. This hill I climb
shakes with every step and oozes
with condemnation for the fallen
making every step delicate.

How do I press for the light?
This night envelopes me like a blanket
scratching at my eyes and neck. The
precipitation around my eyes make it hard
to find focus. My voice tightens. But I feel the words
of reform crawling over my spine, tickling my
nerves, pressing for movement, action in
a positive direction. I look for this, turn the hunt on
it's nose, and chase this imposture of my fears. I can
not be shaken, I mash my teeth into the bones
of despair and cut out the air. I feel it
in my finger tips, my heart races over the hills
of my anxiety, beating, pounding out the night.
The moon rests in the corners of my eyes, and
I sigh with delight as the sun emblazons
my mind for a new beginning.



J.L. Copeland