I search for Lilac across my Days,
The sweet Scent of Pink Blossoms and White flowers soaked in Honey,
I go Hunting for it,
the Sweetness intertwined in green vines,
That leave trails across my Dreams,
and sometimes if I’m Lucky, in Real Life too,
Thats what I hold onto,
The Hope of Hunting,
that maybe I’ll find the Sweet Nectar thats within.
In the Last Years I learnt,
that I cannot Hunt for these Days,
that is not What is Expected of Life,
that its not all Pansies, and Roses,
Only a Fool would think So,
To which I Wonder,
Why Did God Give Me, the Gift of Hell before I knew what Love meant?
Why was I Tortured the Way I was?
Isolation burnt into my Being,
I cannot explain the pain in my Daily waking Moments,
Dreams also filled with Knives, and Beatings,
for Years my Body Weeps,
Womb still Weeping,
Sometimes the lightening doesn’t Leave,
Doesn’t move, the grey clouds sit,
Stubborn, hours don’t pass by, Years don’t Move,
Mornings turn to Night,
which turn to Forbidden mornings of Hope,
Mornings where I Mourn,
Where I weep for the death of my Spirit,
How my begging has turned to a numbness,
I still put my Hands up to God,
I find him Everywhere,
The flowers, in their intricacies,
In all their Shades of Pink,
in the Connections I have,
the way People have shown Love to Me,
Strangers in all their Beauty,
in their Humanness,
I see God everywhere,
in the Clouds, and in all their Shapes,
Gods Kingdom,
His Gardens in which we Destroy and Live in,
My Worship, starts in Gratitude,
of the Blessings sent in the Arms of Angels
Gifts,
in Creation
Fairies who weep clouds lined with gold,
and Patter down on us, as Rain.
Funny, how Suicide still Haunts Me,
I am Unlearning the Maze of Torture,
or rather,
Learning to Walk a New Road away from the Maze,
New Routes,
I often find myself at the Same Spot,
Death,
the Unwillingness to Live,
Not because I don’t want to,
But Because the Living is Unbearable.