Knock knock…
Who’s there?
Trite!
Trite who?
Trite trite again.
Really?
Reality, over and over again
You are so tiresome.
Its in here somewhere as it manifests invisible
It touches me on my shoulder, here I am
It hugs me and tells me I am wonderful, here I am
It lies and cheats on me, here I am
It loves me unconditionally, here I am
It rapes me broken and spent, here I am
It leaves me vulnerable and questioning, here I am
Between God and this hard place
The words, my understanding, are there
The perspective of those misunderstanding my understanding
Not my reality but real never the less
Lies in full bare horror before me
Revulsion now, a concern then, a repulsion to come
These things that never let me down, have begun
Oh why oh why do they forsake me
This vinegar soaked cloth dabbed into my salt addled wounds
Re-opening the blood letting
Life ebbed to exhaustion
Then awaken again, rise to face the muse
Wrestle it to submission
And understand once again the reality humanity
It is a shallow brook, cool and clear and refreshing and reflective
Broken and gashed by the stones in its bed
Changed by the sticks dropped, thrown, fallen
Then lodged to its contained soul
Testing its confines, wreaking havoc now and again
To be loved again and again and again
Again at that point where you question your own reality
Not sure where your centre is anymore
It is there, aware, open to the ruminate bombardment of all
A single point of light, the comfort beacon
You, an angel tired, real
Knock knock…
Whose their?
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