Bridge crossing (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
A gloom hung about over her head like a constant grey cloud nothing like a hangover but more a sense of, well, gloom since the prognosis
A sense of her cross coming shortly to its end
A sense of doom
And always when her head hung heavy with a burden she couldn’t handle like when she couldn’t bring herself to face the day she would turn to Him
When she couldn’t bear to face the day
And only then would she turn to the man hung on a cross seeking His mediation – it was when she no longer could, well, face the day
The man hanging too on a cross
The one she trusted over and over and now yet again who would reach down to say, come
It is going to be all right, hang in with me
Giving her something to grasp at, a tortured arm to cling to, to trust that there was nothing in all the pain
Nothing at all in the pain
The pain that was an illusion
© Millicent Danker
27 March 2013
Sacred Art & Other Poems 