A Poem. A Prayer.

The day is done, the room is empty, the voices stilled

But not really

The silence is thick like black is thick in the absence of light or clichés are thick in some poetry

But not completely

I am left with my thoughts. I don’t necessarily like what I hear, frightened, ashamed, and alone

But somehow not entirely

I’m not even surprised anymore by what my TV tells me. It screams, “this is the end.” I agree.

But I don’t. Not really.

I miss my family. Consistency. Stability. Everything I once knew has gone to hell.

Maybe partly. But not all together. But, yes.

They say I can’t make up my mind. I’m flighty. I don’t have what it takes to make a stand.

I strongly disagree, Then, I agree. Then disagree. Then agree. Then kinda strongly disagree.

The world is full of hypocrites, I say! I can’t trust anyone. Everyone’s out for themselves.

Did you hear that? Did someone just echo me?

Relationships are fragile. So much so they aren’t even worth it. Stupid. Never again.

Unless someone would promise to love me. I’d probably give it a shot.

A sound breaks my silence. It’s the sound of many towels being thrown in. “Give up too,” I say.

Then I slap myself back to my senses. But my hand hasn’t moved. Someone else slapped me.

“Who just slapped me?” I scream. “Was that You God?” Of course it was. That’s what you do.

Go ahead and smite me.

But all I hear are tears. Someone else is in the room with me. They’re probably here to hurt me.

They must have sneaked in.

I realize I’m being a baby. I’m bigger than this. I pull myself together. Head out to make my way

Now, which way was that? It was here a minute ago.

I sit back down. Think I’ll lie down.

It’s easier when I sleep.

Or so I think. Until the dreams come.

Maybe this whole thing has been a dream. Maybe I’ll wake and be all right.

Maybe I’ll wake strong, invincible, beautiful, carefree, new, shameless . . .

I hear myself saying those words and realize just how crazy deep this sleep is.

Voices laugh at me as I sleep. Mock me. Insult me. Do they think I don’t hear them?

Who will defend me? Anyone? Do I have any of those proverbial “chips” to call?

I need a jury of my peers who won’t sell me out and a judge who protects.

But what I really want is mercy to triumph over judgment. Not that anyone else deserves mercy.

But neither do I. Did I just say that out loud?

I need a friend. A lover. A helper.

But the kind I need would have to take me as I am. I don’t think they exist.

But maybe.

I need a counselor. A guide. A guru. A doctor.

But the kind I need probably costs a lot. No one would pay those prices. Pay that price.

But maybe.


(C)2012 John Voelz