For national poetry month, I thought I’d try my hand at a genre I haven’t played with much, other than prayers. Let me know if you are writing, too. Some mutual encouragement is always good!
So, here’s my first run at it. I found myself staring at a pile of emails, demanding my attention, each asking me for something written… a proposal, a report, an application. I have this blog and the Ephesians Project. Oh, and a paper that’s due TONIGHT. As one who writes on demand for a living, coming to a dry place is hard. And that’s where I’ve been. This lament comes from that barren place:
Pulled in twenty directions but only wanting to go the twenty-first
Swaddled by the expectations of people waiting for that thing
You know, that thing that they wanted yesterday-
Even if they didn’t bother to tell you they wanted it by then
Watched, it seems, every moment of every day,
by one waiting for a moment to interrupt
to ask for something else, something more, something better
something I may not have to give
Buried. But not dead…
Liberation used to come at 5.
No longer. More pulling and wanting awaits.
Or maybe at 11
But sleep is a fickle friend
late arriving and too soon leaving
rarely wanting to engage in deep communion
Somewhere under the white noise, I hear it:
A call. Or maybe it’s a cry. Or maybe it’s crying
But it’s there. A very human sound that wants to be heard over the noise.
I know that voice.
It is the voice that sings and laughs and cries deeps within
As I strip away the layers of conversation with people and machines,
It resonates, vibrating with the energy of the creator
It echoes the joy of birth and rebirth