"Powderburns"

from The Disciplines of Existence, Part Two:  The Sciences of the Soul, Chapter One:  Sociology




I sit her in the dark, huddled, frightened, crying
     and still wondering why;
I recoil from the shock, disengage contacts, and watch
     the world passing by;
I feel I'm no longer shaping events, and now
     I'm only reacting;
I must do something to regain control, my life is
     here for the taking.
Where do these feelings and the voices come from?
     Where will they go when I'm gone?
The voices tell me what to do--what will they
     say to me when I'm done?
Needing love, not believing I had it, but now it's
     all after the fact;
I pull the trigger, starting the chain reaction
     of the last lonely act.
My emotions--stored energy--ready to explode
     in a split second...
The results of my actions, resulting from their's
     in turn, will leave them stunned.
Expectantly, my soul awaits the spark that will
     set off an inferno;
I wonder if I'll recognize the signal, but feel
     that somehow I'll know.
Trembling fingers--how can so many seem to have
     a hold on the trigger?
My resolve is sure, the answer clear, I could have
     done it today, but for an empty chamber.




CWR March 1992