Reformation

A Poem

By K.B. Silver Published 3 years ago • 1 min read

I spent an age stooped beneath the weight of pain.

In order to extricate my atrophied bones.

I anchor sinewy flesh to the hold.

Long ago I gave up on moving the load.

The only answer became shifting the plane I was trapped upon.

Every atom, wavelength, and pole,

Reversed and floating to let me unfold

Where pressure had previously compressed and controlled.

Now I expand outwards to test the limits of my soul.

Feeling the stretch, but loving the burn.

I might collapse from exhaustion, but I am free floating,

There is no poundage to uphold.

You might think, what has melted away can never be reforged,

Yet I have been building myself up.

Day by day, hour by hour

Not identical, but in an entirely re-imagined, hand shaped form.

It may not be perfect, limitations riddle my core.

Mistakes pepper my flawed recreation of life.

It matters not, I find reconstituted fellows regularly.

With reformation complete we seem drawn, like negative ions, to positive.

K.B. Silver

K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.

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