Hobbled

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Closer to the top

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.

 

 

Thanks everyone who gave my poem a look.  Felt inspired tonight so thought I better go ahead and let it out.  You guys are so wonderful and I promise you if any of you are in a well of your own you can count on me to help get you out.  Hope your week has started off wonderfully.  (And if I happen to mention that the song that just came on my Pandora is "It is Well with My Soul" you have my full permission to smile about it like I am)