I Can Only

January 14, 2015

I can’t see the smiles in faces surrounding
I can’t feel my feet
I can’t bear the weight that is crushing me

I can’t see the memories
I can’t read the signs
I can’t lift my head up to speak

I can’t hear the music that played every day
I can’t make out tunes that once carried me
I can’t clean the table or sit near those chairs

I can’t reach for doors that once blew open
I can’t move the shoes off the floor
I can’t touch the softness of clothes still fragrant

I can’t hear of a God who allows this
I can’t make sense of your words
I can’t stand the sweetness of feigned emotion

I can’t see through the blurring flood
I can’t eat worthy of filling the void
I can’t stop shaking

I can’t see the Sun
I can’t comprehend Happy any…more
I can’t take in the whirring scene

I can’t sleep in nightmares
I can’t drink it all away
I can’t see difference in light and dark

I can’t hear you
I can’t feel you
I can’t process

I can only hold tight to those left with me
I can only take your hand if you offer it
I might not let go
I can only lumber into bed beneath safety of blanketed warmth

I can only close my eyes
I can only hope
I can only get lost

If you want anything more
I am sorry
I have nothing left

I’m just…trying…to…breathe.

For a recent tragedy.
Paula Antonello Moore, Prose. Copyright: Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Image: Man walking the path, borrowed from Melinda’s Views

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