Hereafter

Our fears burgeon when we bleed black, head tipped forward in the moment to feed the sorrow that has evolved into useless stature. A wilt of the eye that is too immersed in the fray to accommodate clear vision; a soiled iris moored at the pier that dredges the bottom each day.  
 
The illume of my soul obscures like a resonant illness to form my unease. I am far from a source of vibrancy to kindle my stride. Oceans away from reprieve with no land between to lay my head. I face my eyes to the aft to acknowledge every lapse; every miscalculation. What I learned is disdainful: I’ve mishandled my regard and formed it into a placard to highlight my stumble with two left feet o’er a brook that has lost its babble. No incoming bliss in this wild abyss where the sharks circle— voracious, ready to feed on the vapour of my failures; the stagnancy of rich blood that has ceased to flow— Pooling into a tomorrow that never rewards. Where all that needs to be forgiven is forbidden…
 
I relent—
 
knowing my place is the son of man with faults that chisel our bones into potent resilience. Whittling precision into our backbones; carving breadth unto our perspectives. And in the hereafter when the oceans are leavened and life’s threads are untwined, the black is something found in the pocket of uncompromising impulse that compels our tomorrow into standard fare. Today, though, only today will I outpace these hardened minutes to accept all that cannot be forgiven.