Echo-Afterglow

Arms of torrential rain pour down in winter,
oh what we’ve done for warmth!

My blood circulates fast to fists, ultradian Cycling-- I am, instantly, tumultuously a god with superhero powers of invincibility, Flight, for the vapid rapid Fight.

A couple of degrees melt glaciers,
dissolves my integrity—
Who did I become for a moment?

Could I have been someone else or chosen different actions?

Unmethodical, impulsive in that moment, led only by the tick of the minute hand, clarified the speed of time passing, every second forgotten by the last.

I made the choice and, in doing so,
interpreted how I heard mankind’s voice.

What I heard him saying was far away from me, echoing through a disappearing forest that I could not see for its Trees.

I read deeper—
too deep, took it more seriously than it is from retrospect, panoramically ignored the ultimate context of introspect.

Should a Doctor prescribe glasses to help me see Right?

Do I need a Doctor to "convince me otherwise"?

Chemical reactions in the brain,
define what we know as pain.

Insignificant on the Out,
but I’m flying now—High above and faster and swimming drowning violently overhead,
a living ghost who haunts the Dead.

I peruse their bones for remnants of Value, dying gems may be buried among the maggots and skeletons, to be extracted and polished, vows renewed.

Ha!

I unfold wings and soar,
sun through the downpour
knowing all too well that the light will be matched by its opposite shadow—
for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Deep canyons are beveled out of flatlands,
which elevate gradually into the apex of a mount:
from the top I can only look down;
my vantage point
is the culmination of every action taken or not.

This place will keep getting hot.

Cold rain drops indiscriminately to the surface, flows down my face, foreign tears. I regret and am shameful of all I’ve done through fears.

Society drones outside my mind but (“The bane of gods and kings. The bitterness of knowing men are free.”) I am inside, lead-heavy. Asphyxiation. It is unaffected by what I choose to do.

My lungs are exploding,
and all red arrows point to You.

I was Wrong and am tainted forever by the (persistent) memory inside me, the afterglow of sin.

Cells respire “in the context” of this oil soaked ant hill, where I was born, will die. The oil and regret constitute my cells, me. We can’t overcome the species and medium we were born as, the TIME.

Who we are or ever could be is defined by the boundaries at TIME of origination:
117 elements in the periodic table,
X years elapsed before birth,
M minutes until death.

The walls of the box closed in
tighter from the pressure of innumerable forces.

We can’t even comprehend love or sin,
much less the effect of our choices.

The rope will pinch tightly
around my throat
only then I’ll be free
from the actions I chose.