The Halves of the Decade

The decade

was made

for this mind

to decline.

Almost ten years taken,

to recover

from an existence

that is broken.

I spent the first dawn in the dark;

the sun stuttered

by the carving of a bleeding cross

drowning it out.

If it weren’t for the faces

barely there in the shadows,

whispering cries

and murmuring love,

the drops down the arm

would have almost snuffed it out.

I managed to stumble blindly,

still holding the sun hostage,

seeking out solace

in voices

I could barely hear.

Halfway through the decade,

And the voices convince me

To let go of the sun,

Just for a bit.

I loosen my grip,

and then in the penumbra

I see something new.

Beyond the living nightmares,

Something glows.

Inviting,

warm,

safe,

a chance.

I run for it,

clawing

and screaming

until I found myself

somewhere else.

The voices followed,

distant now,

mixed in with the new ones.

I let go a little more,

shed the light.

I’m surrounded

by faces

that look like mine.

Cracked,

stained

but smiling

and genuine.

They’ve taken me in.

They’re like the others,

now shouting cries

and hollering love.

Another half a decade

and I learned to be like them.

The drops never stopped

and now the sun is weak.

I’ll never let it go,

but I’ve all but done so.

It’ll sit on my shoulder

So when the next ten years

brings tens of thousands more

like me

like us

there’s some light left from before.

and something, someone to trust.