Tell me why? Why now
Why me?
Why destroy all the Beautiful
that my eyes see?
Why victimize my possessions
Ignite my confessions
into heightened lessons
I fall short of again
and again.
Like Job I cry why –
why me?
Not the worst off, or the
cursed off
But still the lost
Of love – You gave me
Of love
I wasted – tastily
That is rich and deep
and wanting and fading
hastily
between the fingers
held tight so painfully
Clenching love’s resort
it’s last, as it waits for me
to let go, the best
of me
I’ve failed, You tested me
Job’s words run daringly
in my head.
“I’ll rather be dead”
Can I let go? – I want nothing more
No new love to replace the
one I had before
No new voice, nor touch
No one to name me,
or claim me, calling me Baby.
Not me, please…
© 2010, Caela Strong. All rights reserved.
