These resentments will be the death of me
I never learned how to cope
They eat me up like an infection
And I never seem to escape their toxicity.
Wounds of old
Seem not to let go…
The little boy is frozen in time
Staring at the authority figures
Traumatized by unfairness and injustices
Capriciousness and meanness
Of those mythical figures long lost
Of childhood.
Now triggers get easier to ignite
These festering wounds
And the notion of serenity or happiness seem further than ever
The resentments
impair all relationships
Especially with the divine
Whose silence is deafening
And the sense of aloneness is acutely felt
As a desolation descends like a grey curtain.
In the depressive mornings of ritualized activity.
These times are so different from those of tears
When I feel I have the audacity to confront the divine
As if only then, in the breaking of the heart,
Do I have audience with ultimate meaning.
Only in the tears may I confront the challenge
That is our generation’s failure
Its lack of courage and my own
To rage against the darkness.
This sorrow has its own juissance
For in the debate the inner confrontation there is a kind of joy
That for these few moments life does have meaning
That I am part of some cosmic debate with the divine
That my voice adds meaning
My past, my hurt, my haunting
Adds force to the side of humanity
