I wrote this poem once when somebody did something VERY cruel to me. My pain was incredible, but I found the greatest strength in this pain and a real awakening. What followed was a poem, of course. (my emotional outlet) This poem was loved by a dear friend of mine who was dying, and she asked that it be read at her funeral (which it was). I changed the title (for her funeral) to "Dialogue with Disease" and changed a few words within it to reflect the dialogue she had with her sickness. However, I share the original version with you. Read on:
Fine Line
(a poem for mean people)
There's a fine line, you know...
...a line between trust and gullability.
(there really shouldn't be opposing sides)
I bounce happily on the knee of trust ~
a freckle-nosed little innocent
in the body of a woman.
There's a fine line, you know...
...a line between trust and gullability.
(there really shouldn't be opposing sides)
I bounce happily on the knee of trust ~
a freckle-nosed little innocent
in the body of a woman.
Why do you call it naivity or blindness?
I'd call it a choice....to believe in the divine
that I know is your core.
But like an invisible new moon
your cruelty rises unseen in the midnight sky
of my trust.
...so undectable at first,
but quickly illuminates your dark intentions.
I feel it's breath upon my neck.
I fall backward ~ like a stalk of autumn wheat
in a field being devoured by sadistic grasshoppers.
I listen for the wings of
some rescuing sparrows of dignity.
(fly swiftly and devour my tormentors!)
My soul jots down a note to self:
"Self, there are students in
'The School of Be Nice to People'
who failed some courses...
perhaps a few should have been held back a grade?"
Suddenly...a flashback.
I cling to a tin plate of slop...
a pauper's feast of past "gone wrongs".
(I think I'll fast today)
I walk away, carrying a satchel
filled with garments of ugly memories.
It's time to unpack. I'll throw away these old things
and buy a new wardrobe.
I deserve the best, after all.
My sacred grove with butterflies was invaded
by a wicked storm. . .
and I got mad.
But I can't (and won't) blame my injured trees
for the cruelty of the tornado.
(It's okay to love and lay in my grove again)
So...you think my dance card is filled up?
You think my feet are sore?
No...I'm gonna dance 'til the cows come home!
It may appear that I missed the elevator
to the top floor ~
but I'm just waiting for the next one...
(you know...the one that goes to the stars)
Hearts don't need band-aids -
it's best to let them bleed a bit...
to release & cleanse.
Time forms a protective scab
that falls off in perfect moments.
I won't curse at this dark room you kicked me into.
Darkness is today's homework...
"Class, please show how darkness provides
a perfect contrast that enables our divine soul candles
to be seen clearly."
It's okay that you put me on the fine line. . .
on the tightrope.
(in panic I searched for a net below)
I'll walk this line any time.
When I stumbled and fell to your dark side,
who was there to catch me?
Ahhhh, yes...I recognize that net.
I'm cradled in the arms of my own holy empowerment,
because....
I AM
ENOUGH.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment