are the wave

which crashes my shore,

washing my substance far off to sea;


are the wind

which batters my door,

deluging undertow, wearing down Me.


find it odd

that my road cannot bear

the weight which it should, and so you fume;


count it strange

that my countenance wears

a funeral pall, like a runaway tomb.


still deny

what your actions have done,

your heart, calloused over, waxes blind;


will still try

with your bullying run

to make sure that my path’s undermined.

In the Middle of Nowhere

Image courtesy of Ear Split Compound

You called, and my journey began,

a slow and tenuous slide off the lip of a slippery slope,

on a dubious road unmarked and undersigned.

Perhaps I am going to Nowhere,

that magical legendary land of broken dreams and crushed spirits.

Perhaps there is no end to this unending trek

which bloodies my feet and lames my legs

and batters my nerves til they’re raw.

Having begun, and not having arrived,

I am in the middle of


The terrain is strange and terrifying.

Dark shadows and things that creep and hiss live here.

And always the voices call.

“Give up! ”

“Are you lost?  Who told you to walk this road?”

“Turn back!  It’s easier going downhill than

straight up these cliffs.”

“You’ll never make it!  Turn back!”

“Turn back!”

“Turn back…”

Weeping, time after time I get the urge to

lie down

on that lonely and wearisome track.

I can’t do this.

Life in the middle is too hard.  Too raw.  Too everything.

I can’t.

I can’t…

And at the lowest can’t, I hear a can.

It is but a whisper, just enough to raise my head

and seek the source of the sound.

And I glimpse sandalled feet,

curiously pierced,

disappearing in the murky mist just beyond my reach.

So I get up.  I follow.

I must.

I remember now.

You promised an end.

You promised never to leave me.

You promised I would find my song at the end of this road.

You called.

I will answer with my feet.

My follow.

My heart…