Dryvetyme Onlyne

I’m not a fan of clichés or convenient metaphors.
They’re easy and safe, trite and overused.
But they’re clichés for a reason,
Since at one time,
They held weight.
They had power.
They used to be worth something.

And it’s for that reason,
It’s quite understandable how I can
Latch onto the idea of a
Deep, dark, drowning ocean,
Hoping to hold onto any passing sense of meaning
Like it was the last remaining board
From my once-gorgeous vessel.

///

This long, slender scrap of wood keeps me afloat
But just barely.
It’s almost gone, soaked through and crumbling.
So I clench tighter,
Convinced that the strength of my grip will save me in the end.

I’ve persuaded myself into thinking that,
Since I broke it,
I can certainly fix this horrid mess I’m in,
This lost and drowning man I am.
I cannot release my hold.
And I don’t know where I’d go
Or what might happen to me.
This ocean is too large.

The thought of losing all control
Is actually much more frightening than dying.
To keep my life but not run it
Is so much scarier than losing it.

My mind swirls through all those thoughts
As the waves batter my breaking body.
There is no peace, there is no release.
I’m crushed inside and out.
If I stay here and remain in charge
All will be lost, all will disappear forever.
So I let go, I let loose, and I live.

///

Has such imagery been used before?
Sure it has and that’s OK.
Just because it’s been used before
Doesn’t diminish or weaken how heavy the idea hits me.
At my core, at my deepest places.

And in these wide unknowing spaces and the fathomless expanses
Of all that is not mine,
Though I try to claim it all,
Though I vainly try to manage it all,
I fail every single time.

Yet each time I drown or fall,
God picks me up.
But each time I let go,
It’s God Who holds me up.
And I am well again.

APN.
Copyright 05/20/2007