Of Stained Glass and Paintbrushes [for Nathy]

Whenever I feel
confused

I go to the library
or a bookstore
sit and read for a
long
        time

I watch movies
listen to music
go to the park
to nature

and I sit in church
when there are no people there
when it is serene and incensed
with white candles blazing
filled with hope, lit with love

and I lie flat upon my back
in any pew
and gaze up at God
and the angels
dressed in palettes
of stained glass and paintbrushes

speaking Latin into my thoughts

words -

I thought I had forgotten. 



© Susan Marie 2013 

Thinking, this day, so low, too high

 

My skin is scarred and hardened 

from the unrelenting onslaught of life.

I do not fear that which is behind nor before me,

Yet my spirit retains the virtuous wonder of a child

sketching rainbows and mountaintops upon a naked skyline.

Dear Lord, why have you made me unyielding and frail as fleece?

Vociferous and raging

my predators 

scatter -

and when I retire, lazy and exhausted,

I am met by birds, chirping, in far off forest glens.

Why do I care if the sun rises, that the birds sing sweetly or if leaves once again return to their berth?

 

 I do, Dear God, and you.

 You made me this way. 

And as I stand here now, gilded in the most holy armor

I do indeed feel 

                                    a magnetic pull 

towards something 

                                much greater 

                                                         than I.

Something more than

                                              this.

 

My heart is alight, blazing inside of my chest 

and my sternum expands to compensate

as my ribs crack to dust from the weight

and there is nothing I can do but breathe

and pretend

                            that I feel

                                                    perfectly fine

like everyone else

and that this day

                                     is like any other day

and that I belong

                                       right here

living 

         this 
                   life


blankly staring

at those who seem to pretend

that they do not understand

                                                             my voice.

What greater purpose is there for this undeniable notion that I am indeed quite insane? 

 

What if I am the only person

like this

                        so low

too high

                        thinking

madly?

 

I must be

off

      kilter 

for I cannot define:

my skin, scarred and hardened

no fear,

and my spirit  -

retaining a most virtuous wonder.

 

Sketching rainbows and mountaintops upon a naked skyline. 

 

 

© Susan Marie 2013