False Dawn

I wake to the sound of birds cheerfully announcing the day.

The light peeking through the window, promising a day of unrivaled beauty;

Beckoning me to indulge in the gloriousness of the day to come.

The sky a winter shade of pale blue; the air crisp, but not cold.

A tiny hint of green still hidden from all but the most observant,

And a Sun that warms everything it can touch.

Spring isn't hear yet, but she sent a calling card to say she is on the way.

I arise with excitement and energy infused by the promise of adventure,

Then hit a wall of reality, hard; made from numbing grief and unbearable reality.

There is nowhere new to go.

There is no money available to return to the places that once brought joy.

And there is no point in going with no one around to share the journey.

In a blink, the world that began with so much hope

Becomes a two edged blade that slices deep with it's now false promises;

And I pull the covers back over my head,

Drifting into comforting memories and dreams of unlikely futures,

And the world once again fades to black.

Rebecca   2-3-24

 

Crush Depth

The crushing weight of grief and hurt

almost steal my breath

with it's biting pain of rejection and loss.

A one-two punch that leaves my heart bleeding

with hopelessness a choking darkenss

both smothering and a beguiling promise

of ending the pain.

But God says I must keep going,

even as I choke on the blood

pouring out from my savaged wounded heart.

What worth can I possibly have

to the God of Heaven,

when I have no worth to any one here.

Apologies for leading you in this sad descent;

and I am sorry that I have darkened the day,

but the tears are literally tearing themselves

out of my eyes against my will,

as total darkness falls

and the inner screams begin.

(c) R. Franklin

 

The Beckoning

I wake to the sound of birds

and a light peeking through the curtains.

Both sound and sight beckoning me to indulge

in the gloriousness of the the day to come.

The sky a winter shade of blue;

the air crisp, but not yet cold;

a tiny hit of green still hidden

from all but the most observant;

and a Sun that offers to warm

everything it can touch.

I rise with excitement and energy

infused from the joyful birds and beautiful light,

then hit the wall;

made of mud and grief and unbearable reality.

There is nowhere new to explore,

and even if there were, there's no money to get there.

Worst of all, what would be the point,

when there is no one to share the adventure.

In a blink, the world that held such promise

becomes a 2 sided blade

that slices with it's false promise.

So, I pull the covers back over my head

drift into comforting memories and future illusions

and the world once again fades to black.

(c) R. Franklin

 

Echoes

 

The problem is not that I hate my life.

My life on Earth is not so bad.

I have a home and a reliable car.

I have food to eat and never go hungry.

I have a dependable job that is better than many.

I make enough money to pay all of my bills.

I am saved by Grace and Mercy of the living God and

          He claims me as His own.

I am the bride of Christ who loved me so much he

          took my death to save me.

I can see and hear; I can feel and touch; I can taste

          and smell the world around me.

I am able to move and walk and climb without assistance.

I can read and write and do math and science.

I can hug and be hugged and I can speak and sing.

I can be serious and I can be silly.

I can be passionate or turn cold.

I can ride a horse or a motorcycle, even if not as well

          as in my dreams.

I can think and hope.

I can rhyme as the mood strikes.

I can feel all the ups and downs of the roller-coaster world we live in.

But;

 

There is something inside me that rages and sobs for the things

          I don’t have.

Something much deeper than conscious thought, beyond the

          open places in my mind.

Something that does not want to wake in the morning.

It knows what I have, but despairs for what I have not.

Something that lives in the deepest place in my soul and it’s

          whimpers heard loudest in the night when the world is still,

          but not confined only to the darkest hours.

Something that feels broken and worthless;

Cast away rubbish that no one wants.

It cries out in the darkness with tears and pleading; sometimes

          just begging, but always a prayer.

Still trudging forward, it’s lost echoes unanswered, the last

          hope now faded through the long empty night.

 

12/07/23

RaF