The words have left me.

 

The massive dam I constructed to contain them

holds but a trickling puddle.

When the gates were opened,

they burst raging,

foaming at my mouth

crashing upon the expanse.

 

Like the Great Flood,

all that plagued me was drowned

and washed away.

 

But now it is barren.

 

I am stumbling with ease across this smooth ground.

For so long there were obstacles

forever tripping me upon the sharp rocks.

Deep red holes in my knees,

my hands,

my head.

 

I don’t know how to walk straight.

 

I throw myself at the ground,

leaping in a great arc,

driving my knees into the smoothness.

It somehow feels right

to be dragging my limp limb behind me.

 

The stumble is like home.

 

A beautiful crimson line trails my trudging trek.

The dam begins to fill.

This scares me.


MEW

Photo by Alexej Алексей Simonenko Симоненко on Unsplash

One thought on “Where They Come From

  1. “It somehow feels right
    to be dragging my limp limb behind me.

    The stumble is like home.”

    Very profound! In the suffering, home can be found.

    Liked by 1 person

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