The dark.
Crawl my way up
Cold, stone walls
Dragging under me
a leg broken to bits.
Hurts?
Decide not to know.
No one there to tell me different.
Soaking wet
Shivering
The longest, coldest
Decades-long night.
No stars above
Clouds, rain, voices
Lightning to illuminate shapes, figures
Stopping to peer down at me
Watch me struggle
And then vanish
Some shout encouragement
While sending rocks towards me
The most sympathetic of them
Throw me rope
Attached to nothing.
And I thank them.
Motivated only to survive.
Every inch a new callous
Every movement shooting pain
Powerful, strong and acknowledged.
Voices clearer.
“Why does he bother?”
As if I have not asked myself
The same thing
Endlessly.
As if their doubts and fears
I did not share.
And I climb to shed them.
Fingers touch earth
Drug out of the well
By the last of my strength.
Forced to be still.
Patience mandatory for healing
For true healing.
But once I rise
I find myself
Hobbled
Wounded in a way
Perhaps only I may ever see as truly restored.
Others choose to see the scars
I see the healing
I see the miraculous
I see the recovery
I seek those who see it too.
And whether I find them
Or not
I will run
And dance
Awkwardly but with such a passion
And joy.
I choose to feel
I choose to be bold
I refuse to be anyone
Who is not me
Who is truly hobbled.
Who is truly hobbled?
Indeed.
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Hobbled
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Oleh
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18 comments
Tulis commentsI'm so glad to have met you at this point in your life. The beginning of the poem is so sad that its a real relief to be able to read the last few stanzas....they're really quite lovely.and after all everyone is hobbled in their own way... even those who would toss rocks or ropes without an anchor on the other end. Probably especially those people It's a valiant goal to continue to be true to yourself. NHL PBS.
ReplySome good poetic skills in there--I need to see and read more of this from you. Desolate and solitude moments amidst calamities in life can at times make us feel there is no God, no star,moon or sun to shine down on you to at least make you see where you are heading for. Even amidst such, there is someone out there shouting some words of encouragement and throwing you a rope and you have to determine your own grip.
ReplyI enjoy deep stuff
Thanks for always dropping a post on ririzmusings.blogspot.com. It means alot
Wonderful poem Rick :) Thanks for the encouragement at the end.
Replyhttp://everythingthatclicks.blogspot.com
I really like this poem!! TODAY OUTFIT WITH YELLOW DRESS ON MY BLOG! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT ME! Kisses and have a nice day! ♥♥ http://adribohocloset.blogs.elle.es
ReplyNice poem. This seems to really come from the heart.
Replyxoxoxo
Originally I felt it too long and was going to break it in 2 but it did seem so tough up front I thought a cliffhanger (or well-hanger as it were) was inappropriate.
ReplyYou sure do enjoy deep stuff, dear. Your blog is full of thought-provoking essays all the time. Thanks so much for the kind words and for stopping by :)
ReplyYou are very welcome! And thank you for being so sweet :)
ReplySo kind of you, dear. I never miss your blog but I appreciate the reminder and the nice words :)
ReplyOh yes, Sweet Amy, anything you see from me comes directly from that spot. Mostly I filter it down alot but sometimes I let it out pure and as-is. Thanks so much, wonderful one :)
ReplyA wonderful poem! You have a lot of talent. I am amazed.
Replywww.omelocotton.com
Wow, beautiful poetry!
ReplyThe Dragonfruit Diaries
Thank you SO much sweetie. That means alot for you to say. Encouragement like that really helps me want to keep writing :)
ReplyThank toy, senator. I appreciate your visit.
Replynice poem! you can write your own book. :)
Replylavinajampit.blogspot.com
Thank you so much, gorgeous. Maybe one day I can get enough poems together for one, but, by then, there will not be any more books :)
ReplyI see it as a dark and beautiful poem. However if I were to be asked to do a prac crit on it, I would fail. Just in case you don't know, prac crit is a form of unseen poetry or prose that Literature students are supposed to do. I love prac crit as I could never memorise lines from my books and plays.
ReplyWell, I am a dark and beautiful man. Actually, I am more pale and meh but my poetic soul is...well, its pretty light and sweet mostly. OK, so not dark and beautiful personally. But so love that you call my poem that. Very cool. Prac crits are very new to me.
ReplyIt would be so lovely to hear from you. I promise to respond either here or on your blog.