Originally written ~ October 2, 1991 – Edited and posted ~ February 19, 2012 – Abridged and re-posted ~ December 31, 2019 as part of an Edenbray Retrospective 

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Raw emotion, an open wound – sore to touch and feeling

That time has drawn a veil or laid a skin and caused the sounds

To mutter inaudible and blurred by bright light and anger

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An anguish that looks, enquires – those questions raised against the darkest backdrop

A curtain of certainty within the Theatre of the Abused

Where patient hands tend the broken and bloodied and patient        people listen

To sordid tales true and set, moist with tears or wet and daubed with blood

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The searching lights that probe, outline many failing thoughts

Where children’s laughter once would be but now is lost to the grey

Or faint in hope or sense, they wait for the water cold to stir and a new light to invade their memories

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If sad we must be, then sad and mourn we with the cold night wind

That frail flesh that gave its heat in dark despair

No truth can sooth the marvellous mind of reason so teased by fate and the chance of evil’s choice

Or left drawn and limp on the wheel of human pain

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Only personalities special touch can sense or divine such healing medicine

To calm the tortured night, the warm, tropic breeze of feeling light

A gaze, embrace, a kissed poultice pressed and moistened by summer sun

The evening dew which lays heavy on the brow of many dazed and wounded

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Only personality, which loved and needed takes the broken bones so brittle

In small moments, warms the embers to fire and spit back energy into emotions corpse

To confront the taped, stored scars which lay in steel cold drums in damp, forgotten basement buildings

Labelled by a system even faded, lost, as never meant to use or aid the bearer

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Personality speaks a language so rare, we have heard it only in a distant dream

Where soft words engage our earliest memories to instruct us and enlighten

This world a bigger place, where part of universal chemistry we once stepped

Unfettered by any sadness the decreasing skyline offers

The earth’s choice, singular, selfish, insular yet not divisive

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We, born of personality – a person!

We, born of sense, reason and love – a living person and Baladin only weary, turns slowly in his sleep

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#Authors note ~ I determine to write what I feel and what really matters! I could write of flower-strewn valleys. Of powder-puff clouds scudding across cerulean skies above green fields where fattened cows wander contentedly beneath snow-capped mountains, lakes and gorges. Of places only the rich and the famous may vacate to squander their loose change but then there is Baladin my ageless companion, my friend and advisor, my alter-ego. He is a Leonardo cartoon, an unfinished Hemingway, a lesser-known album by Radiohead, a Picasso drawing one Carlos Garcia found in a box in a Madrid attic. Baladin has seen it all and more. More than most anyway and yet he still emerges in the sunlight, blizzard or in the rain and steps up for yet more of this tortured, human experience.

#PROG-PROSE ~ Progressive Poetry – part of an #Edenbray retrospective – Re-posted today for a new generation!

About edenbray

I'm a writer ... I write .. . I’m not sure why I ever stopped, was it 9/11? .. . edenbray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions ~ the effluence of my short life .. . I am a Writer and Artist since 1966 - I'm an avid Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . I have had many poems selected for Anthologies of verse and recently have published many of my poems in 24+ themed booklets ... please ask for details - join the shebang by leaving me a marker with a 'like' or a comment for my ego and encouragement and thanks for listening - I really value your interest ~ edenbray
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