I struggled with writing my poem today, deleting and rewriting several times. It doesn’t have the uplifting note of hope at the end, as many of my poems do, and that concerned me slightly because I do not believe that darkness wins or is the end of a story. This poem is not meant to tell one person’s whole story, it’s just one moment of someone’s world who is struggling.
The pain and terror and trapped feelings are real, horrible, and sometimes overwhelming, but they are not the end. The work of God lifting and redeeming may not be explicit in this poem, but this image of suffering is what gives the context for God’s redeeming work. Because we are so far fallen and in need, God’s work is most miraculous. In essence, this is but a preface to a much grander story.
With that very wordily said, here’s my fourth poem which I’m still not very happy with.
The Ceiling Bleeds
The wood, it’s worn with pacing
Deep shadows fall on his face
Moonlight bleaches the floor
His eyes, they’re a tight shut door
In his mind, pillars of smoke billow tall
He tries to stare through his wall
Images he’s seen a thousand times
Mock him, turn his emotions to mimes
He tries the door one time more
But it’s locked, as always before
The noise, it pounds louder in his ears
He longs for a flood of tears
But the ceiling, it’s dripping blood
In his mouth is a flood of acid
He clutches his head, falls to his knees
Sentience fades, leaving only his pleas.
Day 4: completed, but the poetry-ish words didn’t want to come today. 3/10.