Moths Amidst Fireworks: A Poem

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Can you separate the good voices from the bad ones?

Can you take the bad ones and comfort them, comfort yourself?

 

Can you get ahold of them and turn them into something sane?

Can you exorcise yourself?

 

Are you haunted? Do you let yourself be haunted?

Are you living in submission?

 

What are the good voices saying? To you?

Do you let them breathe? Do you let them speak?

 

Are the good voices voices at all?

Did they come to fruition?

 

Are you holding on to the bad voices like a child?

Always in distress, always addicted, to the hammering pain.

 

Voices seek me out and follow me and I grab them.

If you don’t do something with them, liberate them,

Recreate them, they will show up as a fated reality

And you didn’t listen, didn’t listen, to what you could

Have created and instead it, whatever it is, tried to destroy you

To teach you, to act when you hear, when you’re spoken to,

When you are shown certain things, told certain things,

When you were selected, but you rejected

To find gold amongst the bones.

woman holding sparkler
Photo by Edgar Colomba on Pexels.com

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