HOLDING PATTERN
Why do I enshroud myself in despair?
Is my dirge beginning?
Is my life sliding down the grassy knoll,
leaving just a life's breathe for me to hold on too?
Why do I question more
and have fewer answers than I did as a child?
Why do I still not understand the nullifying voids in this world?
Where are the Saints? I know only the sinners, myself included.
Where did I leave that young girl's heart?
Did it just ease away with each new gray hair?
When did I start fearing death
more than I love life?
Will death be the end of me?
If so, why?
Why do my sins rise so high
that I cannot see over them?
If I could live my life in a barren wasteland
that houses bodies, not minds,
would I rather face that,
than face the place that buries bodies and welcomes souls?
Why after all the years,
can peace not find me?
Why do I still thirst for immortality on earth?
Is it just to passive my own conscience?
Hoping for one more day,
to wash the human in me away.
Hoping that I can somehow find
that lost goodness that once was mine.
How long can I just loll here
in my own dismay,
before the dance macabre
takes these wretched thoughts away?
If I had but one hour
to cleanse myself of sin,
I don't believe I would fear the outer,
but the sin that lives within.
I do not want to age anymore.
I want to just put my living in a pattern of hold.
I need time to correctly apply the makeup covering my life,
before I am entombed in a casket of my own making.
Bobbie Kilzer Gogain
7/24/97