Tuesday, January 4, 2011

the step across man

you laid soft compliments before my feet,
the day my shoes were taken.

i was afraid to step, then.

you strew out whispered words of comfort,

so my tender feet would not be torn
upon the sharpness of aloneness
or insecurities.

what had been done,
you wrapped in gauze,
and set to heal.
saying, simply,
bleeding works a cure, and cleanses.

when on the phone,

you spoke me bibles,
so that i would believe in me, again.

if i fell in sleep,
the pillows of your whispers

kept my neck from bending.

my rest was full.

my somnolent dreams complete,

with colour and with solace.

you became the bridge,

where i could cross
from the island,
where i let myself fall captive,
to the world, where once again,

i could stride long
and laugh and live

and love...

never to return
to that unholy place,
that i had tried to ford alone,

where my spirit

had been so cruelly lacerated
with malign.

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