Your vain cold words wielded like an ax
against a tree because you’re cold in spite
of that conflagration blazing behind you
but that ax slinks solo chopping at
a frozen sea that once was us, so insufficient
and now? It’s just more ice-pick chipping, adding to
that devastating sea of loathing and despair you swim in
like a leper in the Dead Sea of yourself.
Common grief can crack a frozen wall, but a frozen sea?
Alas, this grief is singular…and you giving, so giving…now
but only of more death and dumb destruction…
where was this giving when there was something more to give
besides grief and chippy picking needle peck peck peck ing?
I am searching in dark difficult corners because the light is empty, Fool…
and ‘neath that barrage of belittling comments I face our story,
our scandal, which is merely the scandal in every story that you refuse to read…
instead you hide under that pervasive smothering attitude
while I gasp for air and fumble with my flaws in the shuddering dark
you trumpet your search for beams of darkness that occlude specks of light,
light that irritates our eyes to tears and tear that frozen sea to pieces,
tear my frozen flesh to pieces…
It’s the difficult, dimly lighted places that require much more,
a merciful throne compels transparency that a dictator sees
as only weak capitulation…but it is here…
In the shadow of incarnation I find the strength to walk this…
this darkened path of self-examination.