A look of gratitude,
Through slightly narrowed eyes.
Convulsions are seldom controlled,
Surfacing without rhythm;
Diminishing with the suddenness of silence.
And then another.
Twos are lucky,
Threes however; look down upon luck,
With the mighty vision of choice.
What’s in the air today?
Carries more harm than it’s weight’s worth.
He can feel it,
Right under his eyes;
Fighting for a way inside him,
yet not quite past well constructed defenses.
In a moment his sun illuminates the air,
And all life is visible;
Slowly crawling towards him.
A sudden, deliberate jerk,
And he’s back into darkness.
But where nothing’s seen, everything lurks.
And 4 more.
Blessings too are exhausted now.
Waiting with bated breath,
Almost willing the final sneeze,
to swoop down
And engulf him.
On this side there’s only dark.
Blood rushes to the tender nose so roughhoused.
The entire face a blot of excess blood in the standby.
And just as it came,
The bout vanishes.
Eyes open in anticipation;
Close again in silent relief.
But the impending blessings,
And in this silence they melt away.
A hesitant twitch of relief,
Stares back at him from the mirror that blessed him at the onset.
For do blessings hold faith to survival, when wished upon from self to self?
Atchooo! Bless you. But what if you is me? Well in that case, maybe never mind? A series of sneezes and this prose gushed out! Just a perspective:)