Dashed Upon

Exactly what am I supposed to say?
Just how am I equipped to speak about
despair? Abandonment? A leaving out?
The sunk and twisted knife, no place to stay,
no place to go? Those dreams about the day
that one might wake and not remember bouts
of fear, days when paradise is stout
and doesn’t run, but stops to watch the play
of morning light? No more speaking. Now’s
the time to listen—sharpen, hone the art
of hearing other voices cracked with pain
but speaking nonetheless; and hearing how
they travel through their days, and hope my heart
will kindly let them all come home again.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: