I remember something that was said long ago, a speaker
Was reassuring those who had gone through devastation and
Emotional lose.
And I have never forgotten “ Even if you have to hold on with only
Your very finger tips, don’t give up.” Through many sorrows and pain
I have felt like the flames and
Cauldron of heat was about to consume me, with nothing left
But a very small breathe, like a branch being consumed but
“As a brand plucked out of the burning”
The foundation is weak,
Seeking its own level,
Rusty pipes leak, joints
Creak
Red climbing roses speckled
With paint, from decades of
Neglect has had its effects
The attic bares the burden of
This house of ruptures, storing
Baggage in rafters…
It is full and ready to blow, it
Has capacity to hold no more
I am hesitant to go in, but that
Is not strange, I left long ago,
It was too much for me, I
Split in two, leaving my child,
A part of me behind
But she followed me in my thoughts
In my dreams I could hear her
Crying, in my nightmares she
Would scream
I can bear it no longer, I have to
Return to claim what is rightfully
Mine
Reaching in, I pull her out, now
With me she shall remain…
With such weight, beams crumble,
Into the house they are falling
A soft glow of orange erupts into
Red tongues of fire, consuming
The rooms
A gust of wind fans the blaze,
Until little remains, but ashes and
Dust, and a few childhood
Remembrances, that survived this
Holocaust
The sole of a shoe that once held
My foot, now covered in soot
My pink dress smoldering in
Cinders, a doll looking injured,
With charred eyes and lips, her
Hair on edge with scars on her
Head
A book with singed ruffled edges,
Opened to a nursery rhyme,
“And all fell down”
I am astounded!
Walking through the rubble, I see
What trouble the neglect of this
House has caused
Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin
To fall, this house had been my
Body, the attic my thoughts
I really didn’t want to leave, I did
Not know what else to do, if I had
Stayed, I would have lost my mind.
This house had been deserted,
Intertwined with ropes and beyond
Repair
The pain it bore, tore a hole in
My soul, it must be restored,
Hinges and doors must be
Replaced as well as windows
And doors
Who will do this, I must have
Help?
Looking to the *Rebuilder of houses
In ruin, the Restorer of destruction
And waste,
A dwelling place for all, He has provided!
Copyright ( 2015)dn
*Isaiah 58:12
Poem from the book ‘Weeping Child
To Forgiving Child’
Donna's Poetry Blog 