You, The Rock

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You, The Rock

I walk, walk across Your back,
My foot placing each step,
My eyes, placing each foot,
My heart, giving the direction
Without daring to turn whence it came.

Strong You remain, while my strength dwindles
From the throbbing agony of a wound,
A wound of words and hellish hatred
Not of my own, but of others.

Broken are my bones,
But not from You my friend.
I have fallen into Your firm arms,
And You withstand, with loving resolve,
My troubles, my grief,
My sorrow, my instability,
My torment, my desolation.

Still I will lay, in peace, in a dream,
A dream of light, of love,
Of a radiant sun, shining its featherlike light
Upon my soul, warming it from its state,
Of past petrifaction and ice covered stillness,
All while You hold me, protect me.

A bellow from Your core emerges,
Low, and strong saying,
“Get up! It’s a new day!
Seize it! Stand upon my back!
Do not stroll! Run!”

My eyes open, and I see.
No longer am I blind to the world,
To its light, its gleam,
Its sparkle and bright vivacity.

I take my hands, place them
Onto Your steady shoulders,
And I push.

I push away from the pain
From the hatred, from the gloom,
From the darkness, from the bothersome
Menace that is my wound.

In turn, my push places me
Into the right direction,
Towards the light, towards the glow,
Towards happiness, towards love,
Towards the sunlit future and an untroubled soul.

Now on my feet, standing straight,
Head held high, my hands start to move,
First to my brow, wiping away the leaden sweat,
Then to my eye, to remove the last blinding tear,
Then across my shoulders, sweeping away
The last speck of dirt.

It floats down to be accepted by You,
To become part of You, and Your strength.
You hold the fallen filth,
So I may stand upon it.
And the strength it brings You,
Will be passed on to me as I stand
On Your back, once again.

Now, I run, run across Your back
My wound, healing as I move,
My eyes, open to the light of hope,
My heart, pounding with the strength You’ve given me.
And on my face now,
A smile.

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Poetry is what is lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

blakeylee’s Poems (16)

Title Comments
Title Comments
With All My Love, Heart, and Soul 0
You, The Rock 0
The Waiting Game Over 0
Rules of the Waiting Game 1
That Day 1
I Heard It In The Rain 1
Sweet, Sleepless Slumber 1
It Was Love... 1
Good Night A Thousand Times. 2
With Nothing Else 2
dogs 1
and then it came 1
Gaining and Losing 1
rumors 1
That Star 2
Fall. 1

blakeylee’s Friends (1)