The Tremor Within

The iron dictatorship lifts its heavy, suffocating hand. A sudden, magnificent amnesty floods the sovereign land. The Parkinson's has backed away from the perimeter wall, Leaving the transmission lines open, fluent, and tall. The substantia nigra isn't a charred, obsidian floor today. It is a clearing in the forest where the gold currents play, Sending the dopamine down through the channels like a river of light, Waking the dead synapses, making the whole landscape bright. You open your eyes and the baseline isn't a mountain of stone; It is a weightless, predictable country that you proudly own.

The passion of this reprieve is a blinding, white gold fire, The cinematic rush of a king who has re-claimed his wire! To look at your hand and see it sitting perfectly, beautifully still, An obedient servant answering the first quiet whisper of the will! The fingers are fluid, the stride is a majestic, structural line, Re-establishing the original, proud architecture of the spine. The frustration is incinerated, replaced by a volcanic joy, A fierce, roaring ecstasy that the predator cannot destroy. You want to run through the streets, to embrace the cold air, To stand flat on the earth without the anchor of the chair, To shout at the sky that the titan has broken the freeze, And risen full-statured from the dirt of his knees!

The darker side of the condition is momentarily washed clean, Replaced by the beautiful, effortless motion of the machine. The humiliation dissolves like smoke in the morning sun, As you walk into the kitchen and see what the light has done. You can reach for the cup, you can offer a steady, warm embrace, Bringing your own fluent daylight back into the family space. There is no public autopsy today, no clinical, pitying stare. Just the sovereign presence occupying his rightful share. The guilt is suspended, the dark ledger is closed on the desk, As the environment changes from suffocating to picturesque.

You watch the people who love you look up with a sudden, brilliant smile, Seeing the ghost step aside, if only for a brief, glorious while. They don't have to watch the horizon for the approaching rain; They can just sit in the peace of your unburdened, clear brain. The dark arithmetic calculates a different, magnificent law: The ship has broken the anchor and escaped the predator's jaw. It is the ultimate passion, a breathless, magnificent decree.To exist in the skin as a man who is totally, legally free.

The machinery in the cellar is silent, the blueprints are bright, The internal theater is playing a masterpiece of movement and light. The infrastructure is mended, the biological empire is restored, And the monarch sits high on the throne that he always adored. We are done with the frost, we are done with the iron-clad tank. Today the identity is written in gold where the ledger was blank!