I’m sick of this bed
I’m sick of my head
Telling me things that aren’t true
I wish I weren’t here
I’m glad I’m not there
So many things to push through
Memory’s a prison,
Memories are reasons
To carry on over the dam
The river is swollen
The river is raging
I’ll drown in the way that I am.
No younger, no younger
I’ll never get younger
Sitting here, waiting for rain
With my ego undone
I’ll walk into the sun
And start to swap nothing for pain
For pain is one side
Of the joy that it hides
And all of the muck down below
Will gather God’s glory
In its infinite story
As up to the surface I go.
~M. Gardner, 1/18/10
