Category: <span>Poem</span>



Fire burning softly, quietly in my heart,
Torturer of life, bringer of death
You are the slow death of the soul and heart,
Killer of love and love's hopes.

Pain, clinging with tendrils close and thick,
Pulling and holding my spirit from flying.
Pain, wall of illusion and deceit,
I scream within the darkness and
Find myself alone, a small quivering child.

Pain's vision sears my eyes and deafens my ears.
Crushed am I by this weight of woe
I stumble to breathe the crumbs of life's joys.
With great effort of soul and other's love
I struggle to rise and face this Medusa of life.

The flames wash into my heart as
I, enveloped by love, walk through the heat.
Slowly I reach with hesitant touch into the molten decay of my pain.
The infection races into my heart and sears my soul.
I stand firm against the onslaught.

The gift I carry so precious and gently in my heart
Swells up as a white translucent cloud
Racing through my body.
I face the pain with eyes of love
Accepting its hurt and receiving its energy as my own.

Now melting, the pain becomes a cool puddle of memories,
Its terrifying energies spent and accepted
By my scarred hands and heart.
I am no longer a child of pain.
I am a man of growing love.

Copyright © 1992 Dr. MarcAndré Bock. All Rights Reserved.