The Arcade

I sit staring at the white screen
In search of words to write.
I search for what to right
In this desolate screen
I call my life.

Heavy footsteps thud across my heart,
Ever upon me
But never seeming to recede.
I look at the bright sun rays flooding the room
And see only darkness.
Hope is such a fearful thing to touch
When I cannot even see my hands.

The heart is such a lonely place to be
Because it’s all mine
And mine only.
All may come in
But only I may come out.

I drink thirstily of Your word
In the desperate hope that
Your seedlings may shoot forth.
Alas, the desolate sands of my heart
Remain just that.
I stare at the opaque walls around me,
Plastered with the smudges of my palms
And take comfort in the knowledge that
I hold You prisoner
In this arcade You created.
I’ll grab hold of the only part of You
That I can grapple;
Your feet,
To be dragged along
The length and breadth
Of this entombed space
Until YOU give up.
Other pastures I know not.
Nor others do I wish to know
Save this Breast I suckled
From childhood,
At which Breast I will flourish.
You wish to drag me outside
For all the world see?
Fine!
Let them scoff at the embarrassment
Latched to Your feet.
Let them laugh
At Your ward’s trust
As a request for bread
Is turned to stone.
A prayer for fish,
Turned to snakes.
In this grim game,
I am the madman.
And You,
The Relative.

Have a great week everybody. I feel better now.