Here in the Dark
Location
The world is a beautiful place.
Maybe it’s that belief
that always gets me in trouble.
I spend my days
in this constant
awe
at the world,
in people,
in how wonderful
some things are, even when some
things
are so twisted up and
upside down.
And sometimes
I’m so busy looking up
That I forget to look down
And my own feet get
tangled up,
sending me down
and the ground opens
to swallow me up.
Thousands of feet
fly by
in
seconds.
And landing is
Hard.
There will probably be
bruises
by morning.
From down here, the
light
is a pinprick
and it’s hard to see
the beauty
when it gets this dark.
Now,
I know I’m not
the only one
to fall or be
pushed,
but from here,
it sure feels like it.
I know that
my “shelf” in the dark
is not the
deepest,
is not the
darkest,
or the
smallest.
I know that
seeing the
Light,
the way out,
is hard,
the climb,
near impossible.
Our cries for
Help,
Get harder t o
h e a r
the deeper
we
F
A
L
L.
But people have made it out.
They come back,
Every now and then,
Face their own fear of the
fall,
to throw us a rope
to give us a hand.
I don’t always know my helper.
I don’t always know my
brothers and sisters,
here in the dark.
But these words are my promise,
my marker,
so that I can return
with
ropes and
ladders and
lifts,
and help them get out,
help them to see.
That is why I write,
To help them get free.