End In Sight Poem by David Corman

Lost once
In one, luckily, sweeping ideal.
Such of that golden, glistening fall
One could find to weep.
For in that gaze, so loving to hold,
Was found that great facade.
That once wished for moment of pure bliss
Did enrapture a soul for days.

That one is called by unheard whispers.
Those whispers, meaning well, brought the listening to their knees.
So lost, fond, and furious.
Blind to what can't be seen or felt,
The great mind falls to simplicity.
So as to keep from caving in.
To break free from the hard place.
To breathe and feel once more.

With an unwavering loyalty,
His soul shudders.
His mortality given thus awful fuel.
A once sacred forest shakes them.
Those winter-white leaves
That trap the core and sour the tongue.
To great lengths he might hunger.
Finding no solace but that of solitude.

Was that so hidden hold of him so wrong?
So crude?
Was this blinding fury so great?
So buckling?
Could that feeling bleed?
Is that blood so red?
It shakes his spirit.
Reality claims the age-old throne.

His nightmare makes strides.
With long legs and an ivory grip,
It breathes old need back to his world.
He weeps.
He weeps silently and hidden.
From all those who curse him.
All those sickly souls who fail to see.
They fail to admit.

His strength ebbs.
His hope seeps to others.
Not unlike currency.
That desolate place beckons,
With ever-tempting comfort
And pseudo-ignorance.
Ignorance of that one truth.
That one lingering longing.

That ocean gaze
That springtime grace
That mountain heart
That neon expression
His mind-numbing need
His glass fortification
His eye-closing acceptance
His ever-growing urge

His blood screams
It screams and quakes
His knees give
His hands tremble
His anger grows
His jaw grinds
And his fear finds its grounds.
-
With some wisp of will,
He continues