A Forgiving Road Goes Slow
-Act I
I’ve gotten to the point of my life,
Where I want to do something with my life.
Something impactful, meaningful, artful, thoughtful.
Something to fill an unsatisfied soul with purpose.
Maturing on a road you chose,
Because you were directed towards it,
Before your feet could even reach the pedals.
I’m no stranger to coincidence,
Just another term for serendipidence,
Feeling so feeble to be able to change,
Stuck between what I love and hate,
Watching the world go crazy around me,
While trying to maintain my peace,
Poisoned by the slow poison of complacency,
We choose to call comfort.
Use imitation to hide dedication,
I’ll be your knight in shiny, dented armor,
Staving off starvation with microwave meals.
Choosing the path of a poet,
Like finding the path as you’re walking on it.
Messy, heartbreaking, frustrating, lonely.
Walk that road, carve a way yourself,
Even as loved ones and critics tell you;
You cannot carve a path,
You cannot stray too far,
You cannot kill a giant,
You cannot shoot a hole into the surface of Mars.
Boiling water pouring out from a shower head,
Like acupuncture to my pores,
I was burnt by men,
So I put my trust in who I thought would be safe,
Only to know that all people have the same capabilities.
When a poet is told they can’t,
A poet writes more poems,
And does.
-Act II
Forgiveness, forgiveness.
Like an echo in a safe,
Lonely,
Heart shaped room,
The word reverberates in my soul.
Forgiveness,
The medicine so hard to swallow,
But forgiveness does not negate feelings,
It negates malice,
And maybe distance.
People have often forgiven me,
How often have I forgiven others?
Truly forgiven.
Because, I still find my hands wrapped around a neck,
Whose?
Does it matter?
Why?
Why do I forget that forgiveness is not a switch between on and off?
It is a road,
Layered brick,
By heavy fucking brick,
That will lead you out to the clear.
Not a road for Him,
or Her,
or anyone else.
A road to forgiveness is built by no one but you.
For you,
To drive on an easier road,
Than anger as asphalt,
Or pride as pavement.
Coasting on an often lonely,
But more loving and forgiving road.
I’m still suspectable to desire,
I live in the uncanny valley of human history,
So close to the promised future,
Yet not willing to let go of the past.
-Act III
I’ve always trusted God to provide a path for me,
Yet I have never trusted him to help me,
With the paths I choose for myself.
Why?
What does that even look like?
I have prayed for twenty years,
To be a creature of choice and conviction,
Not a reactionary animal,
A slave to cogs and wheels I was never meant to turn with.
But God has kept me in a deep fog,
With far too many forks in the road.
Forced to wander blindly as I make decisions and choices,
Down paths that look safe,
But more importantly,
Seem exciting.
Only to find the foundation was false,
Falling ever deeper into the fog.
I suppose God did grant my prayers so long ago,
When I was too young to understand my actions,
My choices.
When I cut the ropes tied to a unhinged seatbelt,
I called my father once.
God did grant me choice,
But like Adam and Eve before,
Had no comprehension of what that meant,
What true potential of the power of choice really was.
But it was either die by my choices,
Or live a slave to my fear.
The truly free never live as long,
We are all masking to maintain society,
When the truth is we were infants abandoned long ago.
The path was never laid out flat or straight or clear,
It was constantly changing,
Always winding,
Falling and rising.
We never get a clear view of the path,
The path must be built by each step.
Our desired destination will never have a wide open road.
I live in the uncanny valley of Forgiveness.
