Puddles

Tears fall forming puddles on this street.

I sit; exhausted from the weight of these emotions.

I look around my house, my yard, so full, so filled with these dreams, these hopes never to ever be fulfilled.

I wish to move, to leave, but to where?

I have not enough energy to take any steps forward. It is never enough.

How can I live with these walls I’ve created?

Hoarding up these feelings, in this house spilling out into the yard, now the street.

I too have become one of these relics, remaining in these puddles of deep disappointment.

I’ve surrounded myself with sadness and now I’ve become it

I’m washed up and old.

I filled these jars, these rooms, these cupboards and this yard up with the manna of hope only to wake up to the smell of its rotting flesh.

My own grief seeps into the ground and the seeds of pain spring up from the earth.

The plants climbing up, covering the house, the yard.

Maybe one day they will cover me too.

I just pray it comes soon so I can find some relief from its cutting ugliness. It’s full embrace proclaiming not only my own death but the demise of my hope too.