Cold Feet

Adam

Adam

Apotheosis. The ceiling amuses. The temple is overburdened, and the dull ache seldom ceases. Awakened, though upset. I centre my thoughts on all that is unmet. My hands are cold, my feet are too. When I had nothing left, I hoped for more than this.

Afflicting, to all outsiders. Though the spider crawls, in every corner, spinning a web. Dreams placate. My hands miss the veil, right as I’m about to reveal, the thin fabric of my presence, demoralising, a brief ethereal hell.

The enormity takes hold and I’m at the mercy of the dawning. I proceed under strain and look to the feeling, but it teases and confuses. What ought I to do next? Vacate the earned space, as the descending on Pluto challenges and tests.

I wish I had a response, but I don’t even have a plan. I’ve looked to her more than once, as if its unequivocal. I search for alignment, I purify to all extremes. Waiting is a sediment, I hope that crystallises me. Yet the dish absents hope and the experiment fails.

The proverbial Edison within thrashes against the world. If I hold fast to the cause, then it will surely enable. I have no more words for the audience, but it’s not as if I’m unable. There must be a clean break, to sever all connection, as if addressing an infection.

To what end, I cannot imagine. The embrace of a less-than perfect being is all that I fathom. The Moon is the guide and my heart traces steps, that I no longer know where will take me next. There is nought but the faith, piercing the fog, to provide needed cover, in this confounding slog.

I’ve reached out again, and again and some more, to the deafening silence of a world still unmoored. My spreadsheets and queries, they offer no solace, my work is my trust in a soul-binding promise. Alas, I wonder if I could, make the tiniest difference. If a smile can emerge from a void, just this instance.

At the eleventh hour, all that I muster, is much more in traces than all of my bluster. A bolt from the blue, my expectations in tatters. I press on for the moment on which all of this matters. Where it all finds its place, with my valour accepted, where I can be what I am, after all I’ve been tested.

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