Within the Dead Place

Within the Dead Place West Texas tornadoes strike 365 days in a year in black holes of my brain.

Legions of Thunder Clouds are shadows,

covering broken bodies,

lives,

emotions,

despair when no one knows – except my body.

In the season of my autumn and within the dark side of my Super Moon,

I’m in the era of my life,

struggling with challenges when people don’t understand,

and never will.

Am I different than most MS survivors?

I hope others do the same: I kick the cowboy boot in my ass to delay progression.

I choose to fight the demons attacking me,

and not just complain.

As I watch falling leaves from my body,

it’s difficult to think about my struggles,

like I’m a falling tree in a mesquite grove;

like I’m lost in dark ranchland prairies;

like I’m stuck in a sinkhole like I’m in the Red River after spring rains;

Like I think that I’ve lost my mind.

Within the dead place,

I’m living with blowing dirt inside this lump of clay.

I’m watching western sunsets as if they’re the last time,

and I’ll fight to be strong.

Daryl Ross Halencak