3 poems by Anna Rozwadowska from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies : Sabotage, Unphased, Harmony

Sabotage

All hearts are trained by purity; the mind wanders in
sabotage, winding rivers coalesced by jagged rocks,
humankind holds expertise in this endeavor,
ego blames ego; the two cannot co-exist, one force shall drag the other,
blood is spilled on the floor, one of confusion the other betrayal,
a blameless victim of apparitions, vision clouded by sand of the
strained apparatus.
Self-sabotage, why?

The being renders itself useless, playing with fire when
already soaked with gasoline.

The inner battle, spewing forth like geysers, this
inner demon comes forth, to cause harm to another?
Is it the competition of middle earth, golden ring  treasured above life,
strife is a compound made human through the Masters of the middle ages,
a blameless heart carries this boulder, for sabotage has a name
and it longs to be experienced; how do you feel as I step into your crevice?

Mine is the longing for the joining of souls, mine is usurped by the mind,
revenge and going forth, stepping over stones where a person's heart remanins,
wading in the water waiting to be free, for personas to dissolve
for the undertaking of the shameless, no confusion no competition,
smooth complexions in water tainted blue,
can we live a free of
meandering minds, sabotage betrayed by love?

Unphased

Lord, take away this confusion, the
armor I wear from invisible threats
if one is to bequeath; may the perforated light shine
in the cracks beneath my skin,
they stick glue, I cannot scrape them out,

my brain anew my soul free to soar with eagles
in high mountains,
not like this, not like this.
Protect me from my own sabotage, at
life fulfilled it escapes my daily strangle,
panic in the showers, bathe me in oils,
wash away insecurity that has kept me from
everlasting joy, not like this.
Heaven must have an answer for repair, 
Therefore, I summon your beasts aglow
for respite from despair, show your grace
and let me be, in peace, let me be,
not like this

If I am to trust my being, I need to envision
a space of the unfailing, in the bright
traces of the sun, somewhere up in the mountains,
may it teach me and restore my vision from heavy clouds
and nightmares at what no longer chases me,
at what no longer exists, I understand that this ghost
is a presence,
but if you show me the day where I remain unphased,
it is all that I ask,
all that my speech can handle.

Harmony

Make love to yourself; your divine nature is the essence,
hear thy creation song, you are so beautiful, so beautiful,
sing the harmony of life giving, the selfish armor of the tremors
that terrify your insides; they shall wake, they will awake,
shake it off, shake; you were not meant to be impeded.

Wounded, alive and frightened, as if small grass was,
at your creation, every fiber touches your branch, steel, glass,
emotive expression in your chest cavity, who are you, really?
It is the life perhaps worth living, you seek it only, besides your dream,
your awake cycle sleeps alongside your gravity; behold, hold,
your awakened heart, make love to yourself in formation, divine,
you were not meant to wither away, to sit back and watch victory while weeping,
heaven in rain, droplets are awakened they sit back on your delicate,
skin,

drop,
drop.

When given the second chance to live, once unearthed from the covers,
when the world stops shaking, when you feel secure, when the when becomes
longer, faster, tighter,
softer, leaven, stolen; your life was stolen.
Have you but the chance to awaken, the dream-sleep cycle allows,
the waking is for the dying desperate to live; clenching to bottles,
washing away sorrows, you are that which you are - gold?

Confide in me, confide in the heaven, protrude like the raven,
flying high it is no coincidence, earthen angels watch over you
disguised as diffusion inside your T cells, wake up my darling, live yourself,

off the fusion off the chair from which you devolved, devoured at the sight
of your perpetrator.

It is time to awaken the gentle cycle, startle response returns to bitter ends,
your bitter ends no longer ends, yet your beginning begins with bitter ends,
it is the shallow that keeps you under, trembling at long overdue emotions,
since then you are unable to live; become now, become,
it is essential to take the steps forward, flight is for the birds you are meant
for better, stand on those feet gasp for air and reclaim what you lost;
territory of your being.


Bio from 2019:
Anna is a freelance Writer and editor, poetry editor of Literally Literary. Anna is a writer, photographer, psychic, medium, and spiritual guide, and has an M.A. in Environmental Sociology and over 15 years of professional experience.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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