Saturday, April 28, 2007


Bleeding inside,
I turn for help,
with a question.
The answer's no.
I'm only three.
I heal.

Screaming blood,
I beg for help.
The answer's no.
I'm only eight.
This one
won't heal.

The wound reopened,
the teacher asks
for the same help.
The answer's no.
I'm still eight.
I stop bleeding.

The wound re-bleeds
over and over,
all these years,
until today
when at my ebb
I again turn for help,
knowing that at last
it will be yes!
It must be yes!

The answer's still
Now I don't care
whether or not
the bleeding

Is that perhaps
the only place
where final healing
final rest
can be found?

Is the shape
of hope
just a fraud?
Teasing us all,
Fooling us all,
Lying to us all?

(not the best day, today. Happens)


Barbara B. said...

I'm sorry, PG. Some times do feel like that. Writing through it seems good -- that is a powerful poem.

soul and culture said...

holding out hope for you...

Gannet Girl said...

Oh. I'm hanging in there with you.

Quotidian Grace said...


Purechristianithink said...


Princess of Everything (and then some) said...

I just want to take you home and hold you and talk to you and make you safe.

Presbyterian Gal said...

Thank you all. Your kindness helps so much. I feel better today.

And Princess, in a way, you're already doing that. Thank you.

SpookyRach said...

Glad things are better.

Mother Laura said...

Prayers for grace and strength, and gratitude for how you bless us by speaking your truth.

will spotts said...

PG - I'm very sorry about how you must feel. For what it's worth, the poem is excellent.