Fire and Ice Metaphor Poem: 2nd Place Winner "Shrapnel"

There is a story that exists,

A narrative dark and true.

It starts with innocence,

As all good stories do.

At times a child becomes an adult,

Before they experience the world.

Others never have time to be a child,

Instead the banner of despair is unfurled.

The dice click as they roll across the table,

It’s a rare double, snake eyes.

The creature lifts its head and strikes,

And I fall through the endless skies.

Innocence lost. The blur of lights swell, Hot and cold at once,

It feels like shrapnel.

Cutting and burning,

It doesn’t leave the skin.

Instead it lingers

And there is not relief within.

Something pushes against your palm,

It is soft and heads for my face.

A yorkie, black and gold,

His grin helps me find my place.

The pain is forgotten, Replaced instead with soft kisses.

The respite is welcome,

He licks my tears and bruises.

Then he leaves,

And all is as before.

His love for me only goes so far,

And it is not a permanent cure.

I once heard,

That ‘we are infinite’.

I think the real results,

Are indeterminate.

In one moment

I am home,

But in others

I am lost.

Battered and on fire,

I wonder what is the cost.

I wait on a station platform,

Alone and quiet.

The train is coming down the tracks,

For a moment

I am tempted to jump in front of it.

The fight for my mind begins,

Muscles and logic,

Against emotion.

It feels like a sick comic.

I make it on the train,

Without killing myself.

I sit on the train and try,

To remember how to find oneself.

The dead, city scenery blurs,

Outside the window,

Music plays as relief,

And it comes to a clear crescendo.

When I am alone,

Everything burns.

A bomb explodes,

The empty shrapnel returns.

In those moments, I am dead.