it hasn't stopped and i want it to stop. this blood, tears and unreleased crutches bearing witness to my broken wings, scratching at the crust of my strength. these nooks and crannies and imaginary relations hiding under the quilt where I lay my longing to sleep not enough to keep the nights from waking with choking and gasping for oxygen and salvation.
the head hanging low at the gut of my soul, the weight of an unanswered quest, an unrested search for healing, for physical elements to restore this temple. do I have to limp my way till i sleep till eternity to resurface this promised perfection? or is there someone who can put the pieces of my crushed spirit together, hold my thoughts till the morning light and feed me with assurance when I wake?
God, why are you only found in words, light, sound and the abstract when You created us as physical emotional beings to flourish under the abundance of these same elements? And when a dire state of a severe lack undernourishes, the damage finds itself a brainchild of science and research clinical faculties that does nothing but make it worse. for simply, it is very simple.
an abuse locked in a secret coffin.
a subversion of love morphed into various forms of fear.
dark is the alley for the boy who walks alone, naked, broken, used, bruised and abused.
it's like the dough without yeast, a cake without bi-carbonate soda, a blanket without cotton or wool. a kid with an invisible imaginary father. you cannot replace the physical with just words and text on a light reflective screen. or anti-biotics that kill the immune system. for simply, it is very simple.
and so, i waddle on like a duck, clumsily, not knowing why I am stuck in this middle class pond of swans and koi. trying to look the part while everyone else's chronograph watch beeps and sings a happy yappy tune.
fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, lovers, sinners and prodigal beggars - my overused line for i have found no constant home to rest my head. where oh God do you want me to go? why, oh saviour do you toy with me in this sea of toil and trouble?
it is simply, very simple. give yeast to the dough to make bread. give wool to the blanket to keep us all warm. give the boy a father, a brother and a host of unquenchable courage, if he is to grow from boy to man, teaching him, patiently, side by side, starting with his hands and his feet, one step by one, sweat, stench, brutal, all things primal.
just don't try to tread too carefully. find forester with me, my brother.
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