Broken Edges

[Lubesh]

Though this mindless wrestle churns inside me -
In fact the motion is more grinding,
Like mortar and pestle,
Cold stone and granite, compounding notions,
Those lend themselves easily to mighty tools and I obey,
In defeat, I am crushed, I lay on the bottom.
Solutions come diluted or malformed in hard tablets,
Set in stone are these elixirs, and taken on board
Can cause surreal and poisonous antidotes,
Mindless answers starved of air and light
All wrapped up in a sterile, white package.
Resist those greedy fingers and their desperation,
Pound back just as fiercely at what once ground you down,
Smash the enemy and climb back up silken sides,
Past the glint of glaze and perch not to teeter,
Not to slide back down and be pummelled till no trace is left,
But with purpose and heart pounding and brain breathing,
With life and light and air to do so.
Fight and keep fighting and wrestle, but grind down that stone.

[Dylan Vorcla]

I love the metaphor of the apothecary shop here, the mortar and pestle grinding away when they made medicines the old fashioned way, grinding them to powder. Interesting that you can compare that to what happens in relationships, where people keep grinding away at each other as well. A very apt comparison. Despite the depressing nature of the poem, there is hope, a glimmer anyway (as there often is with your poetry):

Originally Posted by Lubesh;

Smash the enemy and climb back up silken sides,
Past the glint of glaze and perch not to teeter,
Not to slide back down and be pummelled till no trace is left,
But with purpose and heart pounding and brain breathing,
With life and light and air to do so.
Fight and keep fighting and wrestle, but grind down that stone.

The glaze of the mortar providing a slippery path back to normalcy. Not easy, but it can be done.

Nice write, Lu.