Wednesday, August 7, 2013

The Dead House

Image Courtesy of Morguefile

I know not how long I slept
For the fire came
And stole the breath from me
with no warning.

I awake to ash and cinder
The ruins of promise, of dreams
Amazing, the touch of death, to bring so much ruin
Yet take no life.

I cannot marvel that I am alive
For my insides hurt
And I am racked with sorrow
And terrible loss.

The voice in my head tells me
Mourn not the loss
Sift not through the ashes
And live not with regret.

For ahead of you
I have laid a glorious path
One of light and prosperity
But I shan't make it easy for you.

So what will you do, my son?
Will you sit here, lament what was never meant for you
Or will you learn what you were meant to
And move on?

And so I rise
Bittersweet, hopeful, and never, ever broken
I dust off the remnants of the past
And step into the light.

1 comments:

Christina Carson said...

That is exactly what one must do and you have said in such touching poetry. The more we take that step, the more we are able to see that the real source of our grief and pain is not the life that is around us, but the notion of life we carry in us through our stories of the past. Touching and painful as they can be, we must come to see that don't represent a true expression, rather our best attempt at that long ago moment to understand. Seeing anew, we start to write a tale of truth, one that frees us.