Scrawl

Words wrenched like teeth from fractured mind
I flail to find those appropriate or right
twisting in the wind of the silent storm
I still shine love and fear
in equal portion and egalitarian balance

Words are difficult as weapons or solace
today I struggle more than usual to find
the ones that belong and those that don’t
the mind fighting to find the ones
that reflect what the heart reveals

Words are small as atoms, yet reach across
the widest chasms in some strange entanglement
words are massive as stars, yet light
only on some chosen few
or the terrifying reaches of empty space

Words cut deep as sharpened blades
almost as deep as the lack of them
words explode from my fingertips in voiceless terror
while my mind struggles for sentences and coherence
words are muscle memory writ deep

Words are pictograms of love and savagery
words are the taste of tears or triumph in measure
words are my legacy, my only remains
words etched on tablets, parchment, paper, or pixels
words written in shifting sands

It’s difficult to write in the aftermath of the stroke. I always gave thought to each word I wrote but I am currently struggling to find them. It has improved somewhat and I hope it will continue to do so. I was going to finish a painting as well but my hands won’t yet obey my brain. Typing is difficult and slow (at least by my standards). The slur is leaving my voice at least. But even with all that the urge to create is strong. Undeniable. Please forgive me where I get it wrong.