They Say He’s Risen

They say He’s risen,
dead no more,
yet here I lie weeping,
on this floor,
no sovereign hand,
to guide my way,
no path to follow,
no words to pray.

They celebrate victory,
I mourn defeat,
they lift their hands,
I want to sleep,
for in my sleep,
though demons shake,
there’s some reprieve,
whenever I wake.

But sometimes the waking,
is worse than the dream,
smiles can hide fraying,
and ripping seams,

My soul is screaming,
it wants relief,
another day in the darkness,
under covers with grief.

It’s hard to move,
can’t shake this off,
fearing tomorrow,
mourning what’s lost,
and will never return,
it’s severed and gone,
I can’t stop these tears,
the weight is too strong.

Collapsing beneath,
more than I can hold,
the silence is deafening,
my heart growing cold.

If only some hope,
would bring guarantee,
that the aching won’t last,
and one day I’ll be free,
from all of the chains,
that bind and restrict,
from all of the memories,
that leave me here, sick.

There’s nothing you can do,
won’t let you that far in,
some secrets I’ll carry,
until this life ends,
what good to speak them,
you’ll just pity me more,
I’ve lived through the torture,
born God’s little whore.

He’s already defeated me,
what good is a fight,
with an ambivalent God,
who won’t help make this right?

I’ve learned to be tough,
and just do it myself,
like discarded clay,
on a clearance shelf.

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