is despair that croaks a mournful empty song.
The fire of defeat is burned out, leaving ashes
in the cold grayness with torn weeping gashes.
The dark planet
of my soul
is cracked deep
to the core.
It is a bad, sad
thing left twisted,
a wasteland.
It will not bleed and will not close, lays open
to the salt of another trial. There is no coping
beyond the silent cries to hide and forget.
There is no purpose to see and to be met.
I can not be shed
of doubting,
when what I have
is wishing,
all I have
is the soft center
of what I am.
This is the struggle of sanity, to remain
beyond the gate, to play the all right game.
Count to ten, then take the deep breath,
stare starkly into the black well of death.
I court the edge
of a chasm,
so deep to fall
forever is a long way.
The walls glitter
with the shards
of a broken heart.
Now there is your time, your piece of light.
It opens my eyes wide, feelings soothe my plight.
Who is this woman who touches me so?
How is it I found her in the great masses flow?
You are the calm
in the hard storm
of my emotions,
the peace in summer
sunlight, the lip
of the evening tide.
I stand amazed.
At the bottom of my deadness you appeared
to hold a promise of life and happiness I feared.
I shout I am alive above the whispers of doom.
I see the path to become lovers soon.
You can be my strength.
Repair my confidence.
An angel is with me.
You wear a silver gown.
Your wings are free
You speak of desires
that I want to meet.
I search to bring to you a gift you do not hold.
I want to make a statement, some vision bold.
I laugh because I am new to your world, to life
that has begun again amidst confusion's strife.
I am changing.
I have welcomed you.
I have looked
at myself
but do not find
what you value.
I gladly accept.
I am the answer to the day and nights passing.
I will cleave to you and spend to you lasting
all of my gold to gilt your image in a frame.
You are with me now with the last of my blame.
I can be whole.
I know what happy is.
I will journey now
to explore
this new world
with you.
This world of ours.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
