Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

Soul Screamings

Nothing I wouldn't do now
No distance I wouldn't travel
No pilgrimage too far to retrieve
and return to hand him the something
of value and substance he so desparately
needs, and know that my heart belongs
to him already. That and my
soul screaming, silent yet
believing in him still, primal, pleading.
pleading to see me, I am here, I am real.
I watch him forever run a struggle
each day with some unknown torment,
a god-awful school of piranha worry that
tears away at the vital and leaves only
confusion that he hides behind a masking
of the every day-to-day trivial, the altogether
meaningless. I know that from all the world
he holds this chaos inside.
From all the world, except for me
and its the only me I'm capable of being,
because when he's churning, so I churn,
hurt when he hurts, bleed when he bleeds.
Even now when he pushes so much for me
not to and I'm not pushing as hard as I can,
but tossed just the same by the unknown
as in the potential knowing.

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