A place of return

[Rob]

A place of return



A young athlete


strong, fierce, relentless,


had his brain slammed
so often

that there was nothing left


but an apology for being,


swallowed in embarrassment,


his gun led him to the dumpster


where he brought his life to silence.




Wounds take us to the end


as they leave us dripping in shame


inside where only we know the sounds


some die, most are never the same

.

I knew pain when I stuttered
as a young boy,

eager to talk,
 words fought me,

crying inside,
with halting pauses of anguish,


left me flushed, as others starred,


wounds have a brilliance of light,


that pierces pride, acceptance,
courage.




What do we do when


we can no longer be


who we know we are,


when life has ravaged,


our skin, our heart,


even our prayers.



Before they can bless us,


wounds are nightmares,


leaving us wandering in death,


torturing the beauty of our garden,


splitting from us what we thought was essential.



Wounds chisel us down


so every part of us touches the earth.


We squirm on our bellies
.

We ache. We run.



We surrender. We become,


less than what had been,


not the dumpster,


but deeper.