Unanswered Queries of My Own

Answers Lost to Me

I awake from this

lengthy operation on my life

to be told that it was all a great success.

I ask of all the pain,

the sticks that had prodded at my innards,

my screams that had rung in my ears.

The doctor gives me a funny look,

shrugging,

as if that would make it all go away.

I look down at my chest and see

where the incision had cut through me,

down to my soul,

where they did some searching.

I ask for the results,

yet the clinicians shift their eyes,

look away,

as one mumbles that their findings

were lost in my heart on the way out.

Grabbing at my chest,

I try to rip it out,

that angelic paper

that might explain all of this to me.

But alas, all that remained

was a blood-stained rag,

weary from its stay within.

In my frustration,

I toss it aside,

letting it smack against the wall,

leaving my hopes and hurts

dripping away to the floor.

But I think better of this quickly,

scrambling to drink it up,

a putrid medication

that burns as it slides down my throat,

dribbling into my stomach,

etching in hole where it claws

at my flesh,

reaching out for the home it has known.

A part of my creeps along behind,

hoping to slip in unnoticed

and perhaps understand the madness

that boils in my blood.

But, as I walk in the entrance,

I am swiftly brought to my knees.

Looking up, I see a sea of mes

standing over me,

angry etched across my faces.

My hands have never felt as strong

as when they were picking me up

and wrenching me from my sanctuary,

a place so pure even I cannot step foot within.

I look longingly at myself as I walk

again and again back into the land of answers,

and, realizing that this Eden has been closed off to me long ago,

I return to reality,

knowing that I must face the world

with an understanding of never understanding.

Perhaps then the answers will flock to me,

a sea of ravens.

"Dark wings, dark words."

Credit of the quote goes to George R.R. Martin, author of the Song of Ice and Fire series