Wednesday, June 22, 2011


This is a poem I wrote 10 years ago. Its a poem about the search for purpose and the paralyzing pain of not knowing it.


My bones want to melt
My muscles want to let go
My body wants to stop
for air,
for life.

My mind painted a picture for me,
But now it’s all in black and white.
The trees are bent, tired, closed.
My heart, the same
But still, my thoughts keep talking,
For air,
For life.

How can you erase a picture so clear,
So real?
Tell me how to erase myself from it,
And lay, my own tired steps to rest.
I see
I’m stumbling,
Not walking.
I’m tripping now
Not talking.
There’s a pain inside my chest
Born of silence, grief, unrest
Who’s there but me to claim it?
Who knows but me to name it?

I’m sorry for my apathy,
My lassitude at dawn.
I’m circling now through forests
Trying to find my niche.
Has inspiration come to me?
Whose voice is it I hear?
My own is sharp and deafening.
Who else could know my name?

It is only through His kindness
That the heart can speak
When the mind and body
are numb,
Only dragging. 
Please come,
If only to quiet my thoughts.

I’m circling forests
On wings
Still searching for my niche.
I’m no longer
I’ve won the air
I’ve won my life.