Saturn of Stillness
Poem by Andrea Frisby
Sunsets are an indescribable orange.
I realised that with you on the terrain of my mind.
I learnt that rain fell clean and brought with it the essence of growth, of love–
Maybe even peace if I dared to admit it.
But also, chaos – between the gaps of beauty that you dared me to look at – while you hid behind tarnish lungs and whiskey drowned pain.
Yet still – it lived,
A happiness in the scar tissue,
I sailed the 7 seas from April succumbing to the waves guided by your emotive moon.
The ebb and flow–
The tormented soul sucked into the depths, still lightly lit by the essence of the acrimonious moon.
I could have drowned – I didn’t
I could have floated – I didn’t
All at the hands of your tides.
To laugh with water in your lungs is as close to torture,
As existence itself.
When it was allowed,
When it was invited,
It’d leave me breathless.
The familiar chokehold of the more than notorious nostalgia when it grew dark.
Nostalgia – the time of day where only the good rises to Saturn’s surface.
Where the good decks the 6th planet and makes you forget the first 5.
The good that arms your heart but frees your soul and drowns out the white noise of penicillin and gangster rap on an all too clouded morning.
Armed and divided, you–
Sweet as nightshade, you–
You were mostly good.
Under shards of broken soul, fragments of care and purpose lying amuck.
But amuck amongst kindness and Joy; what Joy.
But only under the thumb of drink.
I stood, until I couldn’t,
I danced, until I couldn’t,
I smiled until I couldn’t,
Looked back until I didn’t,
And then I awoke when I could no longer dream; when there was no more Joy to keep me floundering in the seas of your melancholic consciousness.
And I saw you as you should be seen.
An emptiness echoing at the edge of a couch – crumbed in agony, drowned in drink
Silently begging to find peace – devoid of any satisfaction or fulfilment.
Callouses of a boy stuck to the suitor of a man trying to grow amongst a mind that thought only to escape.
To run from the idea of vulnerability, to sprint to a cave in hiding.
Longed to be cared for but immune to care.
I drowned because you were drowning, I doubted because you reeked of potent doubt.
I reframed me, to suit you.
For a Joy now gone cold.
You gave me Joy.
Even though it was packaged in sadness and somewhat broken on arrival that Sunday afternoon; it was Joy.
And at times completely agonising
But never short of,
Never devoid of,