Dump

I sit here trying to write this poem

in the darkened office

I need this quiet time

the quiet outside and inside

allowing my mind to float

as images slowly appear

capturing their meaning

in the words that I use.

There is a harshness out there

a place of finger pointing

where blame is passed along

like an old time bucket brigade.

It becomes hard to see light

to write freely with a heavy heart.

It’s the death of a thousand cuts

here take my load, they say,

and bear it, take my pain, feel it

as I walk away leaving you

to be the waste dump 

of all my anger and fears

a utilitarian piece to be used

then left and forgotten.

I’m as broken as the bread

poured out like the wine

seeking peace and wholeness

in this dry and dark wilderness.

There is light, somewhere

there is hope in the air.

In the peaceful silence

I hear more deeply

the song of creation

the hymns of praise

that reside deep within.

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