“This house of ruptures could hold no more!”
After saying goodbye to my earthly father I sought
One to replace him. Due to the traumatic experiences of childhood,
a part of me. . . . [my inner child]. . . and I became confused, as if there was not
just one but two of us in conflict, seeking comfort and peace. The turmoil
kept me in a state of emotional distress, ready to succumb to the fiery flames
ready to consume me!
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’s 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 cry, in my nightmares she would scream. I can
bear it no longer, I have to return to claim what is rightfully mine.
Reaching in, pulling her out, now with me she shall remain. With
such weight, beams crumble, into the house 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.
A few childhood remembrances that survived. 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? Thus the
This poem is from my book ‘Weeping Child To Forgiving Child’