The Holding.

The Holding.

I walked around,
For weeks, months.
Head bowed
and tongue clicked
firmly against my teeth.
I breathed shallow,
Without spirit
or fervor.
Freshness stalled,
and there was no
life/blood flowing here.
I sat around,
Interminably,
on my hands,
afraid to move among
all the egg shells placed
around me in this
so called life/room.

I danced past
mirrors,
Not wanting to view
anything bearing truth,
or foresight.
I lived in single rooms,
distanced to outside,
formed away from him,
from you.
I chopped up flowers,
in gardens, around.
Livid with beauty and
all things light, pleasant.

I muted my life,
from music,
from all melodious
and harmonious things.
I vacilated in dark,
quiet places,
grieveing the life I had lost.
memories left to simply linger.
growths and lives stalled.

How to start,
anew and fledgling,
on unknown, foreign terrain.
No leaders with staffs,
to guide the parade to some
new/fangled homeplace.
How to breathe,
deeply and take on
fresh, vibrant air,
No guide for steering a course,
or healing from a loss.

How to regain,
rebuild.
When hope has morphed,
vacuous,
When steps forward,
smart like the heart/pain.
How to sit,
Eyes opened,
Squint like
toward some new day
on some very distant horizon.

Curtains closed,
Blinds drawn,
Head turned,
away from that new light.
not ready to face the day.
not ready for a new way.

Content with languishing,
With this holding on...

Jason Christopher Johnson
July 21, 2012