in the bucket. . .
The twinkle inside
+++++that wants me to crumble,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++down to flop.

It seems now
+++++a very rough
+++++wrinkle I ride–
the firm-under-me ground
comes crashing all down,
+++++just when,
++++++++++out on the town,
+++++++++++++++I finally had hints
++++++++++++++++++++I had climbed close enough
+++++++++++++++++++++++++so that,
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++from time to time,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++I could just
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++catch a glimpse,
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++between the sun’s glints
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++of the long-strived-for top.

The sadness well seeped
to bleed and to drain
the gladness,
+++++the anger,
++++++++++the pain,
+++++++++++++++the nagging frustration,
++++++++++++++++++++the shame. . .

Oh! Please help me God!

+++++Tell me–
++++++++++what did I DO?
And, God,
+++++when will it stop?!

Sadness stuck there
+++++like the very well known
+++++headlight-caught deer,
and confusion, dismay,
+++++as if in the midst
++++++++++of a raging melee
++++++++++crowd of chickens,
++++++++++with their heads whacked fresh off.

Where would be Moses,
+++++to part this grief sea,
or God speaking out
+++++to save Isaac
++++++++++from becoming
+++++++++++++++an old hat statistic,
++++++++++++++++++++a sad casualty
+++++++++++++++of a parent kowtowing
+++++++++++++++++++++++++thus to greater forces succumbing
+++++++++++++++who cut off
++++++++++++++++++++their young child,
++++++++++++++++++++who’d been once their babe–
++++++++++++++++++++a harmless young child,
++++++++++++++++++++in a way,
++++++++++++++++++++just like me?

Oh, oh, oh!–
I want ever so much
to tear up and cry,
though I fear it might kill me–

I’ve dire need of
a rock!–
make that
a boulder!

Or at least,
a firm and a kind
and a welcoming shoulder. . .

But since there is
none here, anywhere,
for me now to see,
it sure seems
that I will just
have to be
since the feat
it would take
an as-yet-unseen one to find
to which I now am still blind,
I would have to be
ever so very much bolder. . .

Since there is no one there,
my deeply sad burdens to tell,
let alone share. . .
There is nobody there
who would or could,
in any way, get it
or care.

Hen, deer, rabbit,
head cut or headlight-
+++++or with strong metal teeth
+++++caught up in a fierce snare–
+++++by all signs,to most minds
+++++seeming quite hopelessly done-for–
which is no composed state
+++++in which to intuit
+++++how the heck on this earth
+++++this long-broken faucet,
+++++with stuck rivers run deep,
+++++to succeed to repair.

Well, yes, on the surface,
it’s simple and clear–
+++++the water must flow. . .
But how, then, to do it?
+++++just to let go,
+++++and just let
+++++that wet, chilling stuff flow?
In exactly what way?

And just where?

At least, fortunately,
here there’s no enemy
to thwart me,
but there, too’s the rub–
+++++since it means no one’s likely
+++++to goad me to cry
+++++as might one big mean bully
+++++or a bevy of kids
+++++to tease me and taunt me
+++++and trick me to burst out
+++++and release all those old tears
+++++that haunt me,
+++++because they were put to it
+++++on a mean-spirit dare.

But, I guess, I can
just maybe
+++++make that OK,
++++++++++with some breath,
+++++++++++++++and a little fresh air–
if my mind’s eye can
+++++teach me
++++++++++how now to be
++++++++++both my best friend and my worst enemy,

So that
+++++my darkest grief
+++++and my best, bright belief
++++++++++side by side,
++++++++++to give others
+++++++++++++++a leg up
+++++++++++++++or a shoulder
++++++++++++++++++++upon which
++++++++++++++++++++their own tears
+++++++++++++++++++++++++can well up.
+++++in my power,
+++++to do that for them,
+++++I can be at hand, there.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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