Closure

Talons once held me
in the sky
far above.

I thought she was showing me the world,

but she was planning my plummet.

Specks on the ground,
green,
blue,
pink…

I thought they looked familiar,
dizzy from the lack of air
I had forgotten their significance.

Art installations
were not so,
nameless beings
dropped
from the sky above
just the same height as me.

My guide
was my captor

she pierced me when I wriggled.

From below,
I caught the eye
of a little creature
just the same as me.

They had beautiful brown eyes,
skin of the land just below an eastern mountain,
a face I once held between my hands.

I thrashed at the memory
of guided hands
slapping the skin red.

The infection of manipulation
pulled me from kind intention
I can’t believe I was used
like such a tool.

They stared at me from a distance,
and hid.

I was carried off.

The green,
blues and pinks

were flooded out with R E D.

My controller,
her calling card
was the color.

She wore it as a name,
an Identity,

and I was her burning Ember…

She didn’t throw me down
like the rest of her toys.

She landed softly
spoke softly
every time I tried to scream
she would just speak softer.

She called me a monster
for the way I bled.

I was the firepit she set
she kicked me
to set the forest ablaze.

I didn’t do as she said.

I withered,
faded,
and she blew me back to life
just to call me cruel for leaving.

The weather got cold,
she wanted to take me south.

She tempted me with warm sands

But I couldn’t shake the feeling
of her hands.

Clammy.
Clumsy.

How could one person
ingest
emptiness
the way she gorged,
and feed me
silence
like her liquid words
were a gift?

How can one relish
in the way
they crumble the world?

In the night,
as these questions rolled through
the hills of my mind
I called out.

I whispered
whistles
tinkles and bells
to disguise my cries
for help.

Friends of all colors
came out from beneath
rock,
between tree
and pages,

my breath;
the wind,

had carried to the hearts
of those who listened well.

They scared the beast off.

They wrapped and tended my wounds,
they found scars I didn’t even know were there.

I couldn’t stop apologizing
for the way I bled.

They spoke softly to me,
and I recoiled at first.

In the coming days,
I would leave our camp,
and come back with wounds ripped back open
with tears in my eyes.

I called myself cruel for attempting to leave.

Not once did they say
the things my guide once did,
as if that was how the world worked.

Now,
I get to gently hold
the faces of those that tended me,
and
the face of
the rolling hills of the eastern mountain
once more.

They could of branded me a monster,
just like the one trying to transform me,

but gratefully,
closure is all I was given.