Still up

I don't like to sleep
Unless I have medication
When my eyes close, I dream
of running
Not running away, or even running to
Just
running

with both feet, legs pumping, arms swinging
like I used to, when I was in grade school

before my leg stopped
before my balance left

I miss flying into the wind

Cold

Until now, I didn't like the cold
The chill of the air
Snow, ice, and grey skies annoyed me
The days of youth with puffy clothes and ice hardened knitted mittens were far behind
Snow was beautiful, on the other side of the glass
a hot cocoa in my hand, and a blanket around my shoulders

But now, heat has become an enemy
Anything more than a warm spring day
and my body rebels

I still hate the cold

By the sea

Having MS is sometimes like living by the sea
On some days, the view is wonderful
I can see for miles
Walking to what I can see
Well, that is another story
The water is always there
weighing me down
stopping my legs

But, every morning, the fog rolls in
Leaving the land a soft grey fuzz
Nothing can be seen
At arm's length, the hand vanishes
Sounds seem distant, disconnected
The raw salt bite of the sea
Stings the nose, filling it

The best option is to curl up
Inside the lighthouse
With a coffee
a book
a cat
and a fire

The coffee to be awake
The book for escape
The cat for a kindred spirit, far from the savannah of its dreams
The fire for light
Each providing its own warmth

Some days, the fog never retreats
It clings to the shore
A cold, wet blanket
Passive oppression
A constant, immovable force

Some days, the storm comes
Battering the sea and the rocks
Slapping against the glass and shutters
Whining and raging
Howling and crying
Leaving behind devastation
Flotsam and jetsam

Few boats come, fewer stay

I can feel the seasons change
The grey coming more
The desire to hide increasing
In the end... what?

Fog forever?

Crying for the dead

I cry for the dead, for whom tears cannot come.
I cry for those killed to bring a swift end to the war.
I cry for 70,000 souls snuffed out in a flash of light the world has seen only twice.
I cry for those who did this.

I cry for a race that had to be brought to this point before it would stop.

Death and destruction has happened since, to be sure.
But none like the surface of the sun being brought to Earth
to end a petty squabble

I cry for the dead, for whom tears cannot come.
Some leaving only their shadows in silent remembrance.
I cry for the generations that lived, fearful, of the hellish fury's return
Fingers bleeding from their furtive digging
Trying to get away from the light

Trying to find peace in the cold earth, that so many had already found.

Dancing the Dance

I've danced your dance
Over broken glass and pins and needles
Weaving between the jagged barriers you put up
On broken legs and fueled by hope for compassion
They scanned me, and stabbed me
They took life, and gave me pills
And still I dance

I cannot walk
And still I dance

It's hard to think,
And still I dance

The heat and cold bite
And still I dance

I itch, and hurt, and cry
And still I dance

As long as I have breath
I will dance

As long as my heart beats
I will dance

Creaking Gears

I turn the handle
Stiffly, it moves
Dust falls from the cracks, the dust of time
From deep within a moan of mechanical pain
A squeal of protest, before the machine moves
It is an ancient mechanism
Worn, but cared for
I hear the creaks of disuse,
smell the congealed grease spreading thin
The wheels and cogs slowly thunder to life

Inertia is all I need,