The ceaseless state of survival that clamps my jaw in bite, burdens my hands into fists

The damning weariness of wearing my guard, day in and day out,

A strength of fight and a weighted ache

…that makes an anomaly of my being

…that veils my clarity

…that cleaves my heart

I still dream, at least once a week, that my silence extends to my screams

The adrenaline ill suited to my greying flesh, and the backdrop of black velvet void,

…proximity of elements frictions a static

…a combustion of white sparks

…and collapsing, silver stars

Quiet moments of mind in synch with body, ease survival into existence, of the here and the now,

…where my hands extend in release,

…and I exhale tomes,

…as hope alights atop my palms

I may never know peace in multitudes, but I finally defined home

E. A. O'Connell. November 13, 2021.