This Atlas

Hello, Friend
 
Pain
Is the god of
Fear,
Which drives me
Here,
It seems,
Annually,
To these
Mournful
White
Halls
 
Witness:
 
Blood on his weather worn
Skin,
(Ink,
Parchment),
His eyes are more
Calm
Than those
Who blot the flesh
(Canvas)
And wrap
(Paper)
Linens about his
Frail
(Quill)
Limbs
 
He is aged
Wisdom,
Long suffering is a
Friend
 
Beyond the silent
Pane
Of glass,
A steady
Darkening
 
My heart
Is a
Vortex
Pouring through
Channeled
Rivers
Of astounding
Force,
This muscle,
This Atlas,
In naked
Revelation
Of
Ultra
Sound
 
Outside,
Wind buffets the trees
Which sway and
Saw
Upon their
Stalwart
Growths
 
Hello, Friend
Whose
Ministrations
Probe
The epicenter of my
(Torn)
Hurt
Where I am
Brought
Low
At this,
Weakest
Link
 
I think
About
Everyone
Who's gone through the process of
Dissolution
How it must've felt,
Oscillations of:
Fear
Anger
Hope
Despair
Resignation
And how
Distinctly
Alone
You are
 
Busted wing
Cradled
In this
Bed of
Firm
White
Walls,
Talons curled
Inward
 
Flirt up the nurses, who
Smile and laugh as I
Don my open back
Dress
Beyond a thin
Flowered
Curtain
 
Examination
Machines
Bleat their
Alien
Chorus,
Uncertainty
Quavers
At the heart
 
Witness:
 
Somewhere nearby, she cries
Out to a god, whose
Answer is
Nothing,
Silence
Or
Whose answer
Is a pair
Of trained
Hands,
Whose steady,
Unwavering
Efforts
Knit
Her lacerations
Or, whose
Answer
Is quite simply,
This epistle,
This Atlas,
My listening
Heart
 
I hurt
I awake
(Bodhi)
All within an hour
 
I've been looking at things
A certain way,
Lately, in my silence
Which was felt
Before
This incident
 
The skin
On the backs of my
Hands
Becoming
Translucent
Green
Veins
Traveling
Through
Sinuous
And marbled
Musculature
 
It is beautiful
 
The passage
And ravages
Of time, how
Fragile
Everything is
In one sense and
The perfect
Unassailable
Cycles
In the other
 
Footsteps, in a
Rush, against the
Weather,
A hush
Of
Distant conversation,
Muffled by
Glass
 
Everything
Is energy
Transforming
Becoming
In the star
Ocean
 
It is quite beautiful
 
There comes a moment
When
All you can do
Is hold their hand
Goodbye, Friend
 
I think about everyone
Here,
Gone,
All,
Within an hour
 
Somewhere nearby, she cries
 
..
 
This Atlas
Or
My Listening Heart
By
Daniel Christensen