LIKE GLASS I Like glass sometimes, breaks, or at least cracks, sending runners of prismatic pain up the center, I split. A yawning maw, I open, wider even than a crack, yet, as jagged and direction-less. II Hope diverts and morphs, revealing underlayment bare. Without nourishment it stands like skinny ribs. Loss seems the hand I hold, hardy and fickle, cold and bony. Nothing really to grasp. An almost amphibious sleight. III I want to scream, I sometimes do it, wondering if it is heard in Heaven. Through clouds and mist and azure grey skies, "Can You hear me?" "Please God," has become the mantra, a request and a command. Full of sorrow it pours from the ewered gash of my heart. IV Like glass, transparent, what shines through, fades. And I am fading, a wisp on breezes cool. I bend as willow in those breezes, aged and broken with silent losses. Their whispering, whispering green fingers trailing along the earth, weeping again and again for the One Who heals and comforts. copyright M. LaPointe 06/19/2009 |