For Benny

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