It had not been easy for her—caught as she was against the grail ,

There was nothing to be done to make it better, she was sure of

 that,

And so she woke each day and dressed to fit the part that she     

must play

In the drama of lives not her own, not hers to manage, but her load to bear

Until the grave claimed body as it had her mind and soul.

Trodding alone, undone by burdens not hers to bear but cast upon

Her shoulders all the same. Small feet dug deeply into mire that clung

Odorous, decaying to her shoes. Shoes that fit too tight—she could not take them off—

For who would keep the wolves at bay that threatened to undo the innocents?

Should she cast the things away that sucked her down, down, into the

Bog of no return and leave the innocents to drown?

The seasons came and passed into the endless night, sleep

Came not to her door but found her sitting in her chair, rocking, reading

Searching with her pain fogged mind for worlds that lay beyond the square

Walls white, beyond the night, the arms of death bound her tight—allowing shallow breaths but no fresh air.

Rocking, waiting, bravely daring one small hope, despairing not entirely,

Rocking on, and on.

Waiting, reading, daring one small hope, fainting sometimes

when the wolves press in too close.

A hundred wolves embodied in one man, fangs bared. She does the best she can to divert him from the innocents.

The blame is hers, ask anyone who knows—diversions pulling plunder from the shelf,

She never meant to lose her self in putrid waters – drowned beneath

The wolfish snarl and frown directed at the innocents –‘til she paid the price for

Momentary peace—a child herself when first she fell into the bog that sucked her

Down beneath the dead, decaying ground—into the pit, swallowed by a frown.

Down but dead not yet, a breath escapes pallid lips encased in muck and mire-the

Bog unbound

In a heart so young, so old, buried too deeply to be found by passersby and still

She stays...

Rocking, waiting, bravely daring one small hope, despairing not entirely

Rocking on, and on,

Waiting, reading, daring one small hope, fainting sometimes when the wolves

Press in too close

A hundred wolves embodied in one man, fangs bared, she does the best she can

To divert him from the rest, the innocents.

Seasons pass and life moves on, the scenery changes, one by one

the innocents grow wings! At last are gone.

She gathers courage in her breast—confronts the wolves within their den—you have

Kept me here too long, she said. You’ve buried me beneath the bog, the decomposing muck

Has robbed me far too long—the toxic fog of poisoned words, the daily messages

I’ve heard I’ll hear no more where I am going now.

Soar, brave eagle, soar! Rise above the muck and bog, the pinnacle where you belong

Awaits! 

You soar not alone, my friend, for waiting—there—around the bend is One who stayed

Until the end.  It was His hand that held your head above the muck, the stagnant dead,

 It was his eyes that gave you light to read His Words throughout the night.

It was his breath that flowed into the chambers of a ravaged heart – that bid you rock, and wait, and read, and dare to hope for better things.

The wolves embodied in one man has fallen in the nail scarred hand of the One who felt

Your pain.  Have pity on the guilty man who robbed a child of heart and soul—have pity on the wolf de-fanged and look not where he goes—it is too late.

©

Linda settles

www.RedeemingOurTreasures.com