A Hopeful Lamentation

I sought answers more fiercely than beasts that consume each other over a bone that has lost all of its flesh. Too easily I placed myself in the mouths of wolves. I wrote words to nothing. A necessity for desire was needed. I needed a definition for authentic certainty to put away my hearts aspirations. Holding me back, a lack of a flow of consciousness existed within me. O’ how far absent the ear of my desired recipient seemed to be. Translucent verbal expressions of honesty ebbed into a colorful palette of exuberant abandonment; only when I had become intelligible enough to pick up the brush set before my eyes. The brush had been promised to me. Strokes become the stream of a stranger that I’ve known my whole life. What a foolish man existed in the mirror that I’d been facing. Why had I readied myself to the sound of a gunshot to sprint into an unending darkness? I had wastefully fumbled day and night, for they were both as pitch black to me. My brothers had pulled me down into the den of wolves that they themselves are trapped in. Salvation for murderers became nothing more than a dream. I obtain nothing from my heart. What a suffocation the works of my hands had become. My soul had wept for a desire to rip out what ails me from under the bed of my fifth rib. I concluded myself to drain my blood of death. The bite of glowing darts had filled my flesh from brow to toe. Why did I proceed to stride from end to end through the line of fire that I had created against myself for so long? I thirsted with no quenching accessible. Bleeding out and barely crawling to myself, my mind had ignited into worthwhile recollection. A sacrifice and his offer for timeless streams had then overflowed my vision. Tears overwhelmed and drained me. Irremovable manacles hitched to each of my limbs were split open. I choose the never ceasing water! I choose the immaculate blood of the sacrifice. Barricading my mind in the closet became my furthermost power. The glorious presence whose voice is sharper than knives I had found in the quiet places. My only factual conversations lay only in the presumed unoccupied air. No words for the justification of my selfish ambition, but continually for those who are the blood in my veins. Those whose hearts still being consumed by the wolves thought to be dismissed flooded me. My frantic rescues were taken as revolting wickedness. I am continually scowled with hatred for the water I drink. What a luxury to be hated by my brother in response to my love. Abhorrence of me strengthens the thriving and earsplitting love of the voice I find in the quiet places. The sound I discovered in the tranquility came roaring. I found the whisper was no longer found in the absence, but from my mouth. Control of words and intelligence became unattainable. The voice was now my own speaking at its own will. This water is never going to dehydrate. I am forever longing to undergo crucifixion with delight on my face; what a rewarding disposition. Continually trembling at the voice that dwells within, the mirror past looked into shattered at the vibrations. Don’t ask me to talk, for I just may speak. The authentic certainty searched for is this; a zeal for the house of the voice has eaten me up.

A Hopeful Lamentation

Garrett Hanson

Merritt Island, United States

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

This is a poem I wrote as a lamentation of hope for my life, for the ones I love, and for the things I am still yet to encounter beyond what is currently existing. An insight into how life use to be is illustrated in the struggles presented as well as a hope for salvation to come.

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