the moon peeks around the cloud
not exactly sure
in doubt: what to do with the puddle of grey before me
look away?
step over?
go around?
play?
my hands dart forth
it can be shaped
it squishes through my fingers
it feels solid around my toes
–
the sun rises
it begins to dry
i pull my hands out but the grey stain stays
it hardens
it cracks
my hands are free, though swollen
but my feet?
i forgot they were underneath me
–
i was a child thinking it was fertile mud, transformative clay
lost
when somebody told that there is not a Way
stuck
when somebody told me to stay
worried
when somebody told me i didn’t know until i knew the grey
–
the sun begins to rise
the wolves begin to gather but nap all around
i want to sit but am stuck into standing my ground
does praying work?
again!
does praying work?
–
i can’t do it
i can’t
nothing is getting better
ever
he left me
he misled me
he didn’t love me
i’m all alone
the sun is going down
–
cold, dark, surrounded by fang-y guests
help me, Father
i thought i could create something better than You
i thought i could reshape the world on my own
it was me
–
the crowd of somebodies and theys walk by
spit on me
don’t look to see if i am anybody
the wolves temporarily go another way
–
i look at my hands, scaled, stiff, and swollen still
i can’t love
–
the warm sun missing
the growls growing louder, rehashing their plans
the inability overwhelming
i whimper
i even hate me
–
too scared to want to be free
knowing i am too weak to be able to carry me
two legs in atrophy
weary, weary, weary
a wolf darts at me
i bend
–
free me
i hear thunder
what if it rains?
will it flood all over me?
will i not be able to breathe?
no one cares about me!
dying alone
no one cares about me…
lift me
–
break this concrete molded around me
i want to dance
i want to sing
but panic constricts the joy in me
love
love?
i can’t love
is there such a thing?
what does that mean?
–
the wolves try again
i begin to scream and flail
they want to take away everything that defines me
help me!
–
the starry night opens into pink, purple, and gold
the moon moves over
i shiver because i can feel the cold
He’s gone
He’s gone
He really left me
i’m sorry
i’m sorry
i don’t know how to pray
–
i wring my hands
i would prefer to pace
i grasp my hair but decide to keep it in place
–
a warm shower taps my face
oh, here it comes my demise
the flood i deserve
but i am scared to die
a warm hand touches my shoulder
–
He was there the entire time
stuck with me,
He removes the concrete
free
*Copyright 2013
Other poems with a similar theme:
sin: myth, legend, or history? (poem)
fantasy, myth, legend, history (poem)
dark night of the soul, an illustration (poem)
the cloud of not wanting to know (poem)
lamehousewife
epic
Thank you!
that was wonderful!
Thank you, Terry! Happy New Year!