For One Who is Lost

"Deliverance"
I hid my face that no
light would shine upon it
to expose my shame.
I shut my hands
that I would not have to
look upon them and
behold their stains
of years of self-deception.
I lay in bed and swept
my thoughts away
to numb the pain
of what I was,
the nothing of what
I had been, but
it crawled mockingly in
bed beside me
to remind me.

So when He called
I didn't answer, I
didn't lift my head.
I dare not believe
that such a Being was
beckoning me,
bidding me to find Him.
But in my depths, in my
desperate inner pleadings,
mercy shone its rays
upon me and bid me
to rise and show my face
because I had found
Him whose love
defied my bitter shame -
my deliverance,
my way up and
my way out.

Letting Go

I wait for it
with apprehension --
the moment that
you are gone
and there is nothing
inside you
no hope to cling to
no words that
mean anything.

What do I say as we
sever the hearts?
Good luck, see you soon,
have a nice day
when what we mean
is finality and
the cold realization
that our sun has set
and won't be rising.

Better days are ahead,
at least that's
what they say.
It's better to have
loved and lost,
time heals all wounds,
and all the other
nonsensical chatter
we attempt
to fill our minds with
so we can
make it through
the night
in one piece.

But I'm unlikely
to forget all
the days behind us,
the right ones
worth holding onto.
The firsts,
the way you
wanted to keep me,
the kiss we never
wanted to let go.
Still, I feel your
hands and mine
inside them,
my cheek against
the warmth of
your chest, and
the forevers we
exchanged when
they meant something.

Inevitably,
the night will come
to suck the marrow
from my bones.
Our bed will be
cold and taunting
on what was your side,
your empty pillow
the skeleton of
who used to
lay beside me.

There, in the
unresponsiveness
of the dark, is
where I crumble.
The strength I
borrowed from
somewhere (or
the weakness I had
masquerading
as such) is depleted,
and I am alone
with my thoughts
of you and me.
The minutes of
the night become
centuries as I lay
in our bed
without you.

And, suddenly, I
wish for some
nonsensical proverb
to hold onto,
something to get me
through to a
brighter morning,
a morning where there
is hope for healing,
and I can begin
letting go of
the apparition
of the ideal you.