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Poem

The day they kidnapped you
Was the day I found myself lost.
I found myself mostly numb
In a frosted layer of my own tears --
My eyes now dried out from
Years of overuse.

I've never missed something this badly,
Even after losing my own dad.
Sadly this takes the cake.

I almost feel inhuman for feeling this way.
But isn't that what I am now since you fled?
The monster under my childhood's bed?
One of a total of eight -
One for every forsaken flame
That kept the fire of my childlike zeal burning -
And eight years of work still can't raise the flame from its slumber. 

Forgive me

In the chill of loneliness' cavern
I've forgotten the fondness of a smiling heart, 
Or the levity of laughter's luxury. 
I have lost the grail of passion, 
And a passion for people.

People --

Love
People laugh
People listen
People link arm to arm
And lean closer
Eye to eye 
Bonded by the light transmitted between them.

I am not people.
I am not persons.
I am but deserted versions of
burdens long forsaken,
behind the curtains of sermons sung
and versus not forgotten,
yet buried under the misery of betrayal's semblance

Remember
Meekness
Patience
Temperance
Gentleness -
These are healing balms 
From the palms of Gilead
In symbolic remembrance
Of the one whose palms hold the bonds of light 
Which people transmit -
Who submitted His will
And became Grace itself.

These are sermons sung
And versus not forgotten,
And my shaking soul 
Left lifting its melodies 
In search of the harmony that will
Someday heal its scars.

I am the lamb 
written into each palm.
I am the woman
who draws from His healing balm.
I am the human
whose imperfections only grace can heal
into sacred psalms of eternal calm.

I am
the lamb of 
I am -
The only way
the only truth
the only life
the only one.

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