Love

I make my home in the depths of sorrow.

There, at the end of the hall is an open doorway,
beckoning me to run out into the cool sunshiny breeze
to smell the fresh grass and commune with the puffy clouds.
But here I stand, flat footed and immobilized
like a poor pooch chained to a burning building…
unable to move forward, but free to move back.
My shackles, chains and key less bonds are internal…and they hold fast.

I strain in vain.

It’s so dark in here.

Down the opposite hall are raging storms
birthed by angry and overbearing black cumulonimbus dread,
spitting torrents of recycled ancient acid.
They bring with them deafening Father thunder
who rages
as he announces the soul splitting actions of Mother lightning,
illuminating just enough to glimpse the horror left wherever she strikes.

Steaming stench.
Putrid decay.
Hot death.

Every now and then the sun burns through, giving false hopes that I can stay
here,
inside,
and grow my own forest,
in peace.

But only storms live in this place…
down that hall.

Every time I chase the sun back down
that hall,
the first family of destruction and despair come back…
even stronger than before…
and get between me
and the door.

Burning me.
Tearing me.
Reaching into me
and pillaging me.

Hope has become
false hope has become
no hope has become
prison,

the worse prison of all,
the one you can leave

but won’t.



Psa 30:5


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