Laudable pus/washed clean

The crack in my soul splits open,

A heaving torrent tumbles out:

A flow of sticky, stinking slime,

Black blood of anger, pain and fear

And secret sweat of midnight tears.

 

A frothy flood pent up too long

As all my efforts took me to the edge,

Now pouring forth will carry me away

With mind unhinged and heart adrift

My finger-holds all lost, feet slip…

 

I know it has to be released, confessed

And brought into the light of day,

An honest purge, an emptying, the only way.

If I pretend the abscess is not there

Infection bitterness will eat away my bones.

 

I grab the only solid thing in sight:

A splintered post, deep-driven in the earth,

The ancient wood fixed for eternity within arm’s reach,

To keep my head above this tide

Of shame and helplessness, the grief

As humbled human pride must die.

 

Now all is sewage-stained: I lie quite spent

Within the shadow of the cursèd tree

Beneath another broken heart and riven side,

Another flood, of blood and water mixed,

As flowing down the cross they reach the earth

To stain a second birth mark on my soul.


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About Sally Ann

True-story teller - words and pictures
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One Response to Laudable pus/washed clean

  1. Mags Tyler says:

    I read your poem yesterday and read this one today, it’s one of Madame Guion’s:

    “I love the Lord,” is still the strain

    This heart delights to sing:

    But I reply—your thoughts are vain,

    Perhaps ’tis no such thing.

    Before the power of love divine

    Creation fades away;

    Till only God is seen to shine

    In all that we survey.

    In gulfs of awful night we find

    The God of our desires;

    ‘Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,

    And doubles all its fires.

    Flames of encircling love invest,

    And pierce it sweetly through;

    ‘Tis filled with sacred joy, yet pressed

    With sacred sorrow too.

    Ah love! my heart is in the right—

    Amidst a thousand woes,

    To thee, its ever new delight,

    And all its peace it owes.

    Fresh causes of distress occur

    Where’er I look or move;

    The comforts I to all prefer

    Are solitude and love.

    Nor exile I nor prison fear;

    Love makes my courage great;

    I find a Saviour every where,

    His grace in every state.

    Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,

    Exclude his quickening beams;

    There I can sit, and sing, and weep,

    And dwell on heavenly themes.

    There sorrow, for his sake, is found

    A joy beyond compare;

    There no presumptuous thoughts abound,

    No pride can enter there.

    A Saviour doubles all my joys,

    And sweetens all my pains,

    His strength in my defence employs,

    Consoles me and sustains.

    I fear no ill, resent no wrong;

    Nor feel a passion move,

    When malice whets her slanderous tongue;

    Such patience is in love.

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