Poetry

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Friday, June 19, 2009

LIKE GLASS
I

Like glass sometimes,

breaks, or at least cracks, sending

runners of prismatic pain up the center, I

split. A yawning maw, I open, wider even than a crack, yet,

as jagged and direction-less.

II

Hope diverts and morphs, revealing underlayment bare.

Without nourishment it stands like skinny ribs.

Loss seems the hand I hold, hardy and fickle, cold

and bony. Nothing really to grasp. An almost amphibious sleight.

III

I want to scream, I sometimes do it,

wondering if it is heard in Heaven. Through clouds and mist

and azure grey skies, "Can You hear me?"

"Please God," has become the mantra,

a request and a command. Full of sorrow it

pours from the ewered gash of my heart.

IV

Like glass, transparent, what shines through, fades.

And I am fading, a wisp on breezes cool.

I bend as willow in those breezes, aged and

broken with silent losses.

Their whispering, whispering green fingers trailing

along the earth, weeping again and again

for the One Who heals and comforts.



copyright M. LaPointe 06/19/2009

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