A Bleak Poem

In this blog post, I’m taking a slightly different approach. Unlike my previous entries, I’ve decided not to provide an explanation or analysis of the poem you’re about to read. I thought it might be more engaging for you, my thoughtful readers, to delve into it and interpret its meaning in your own unique way. After all, poetry is a personal journey, and every reader brings their own perspective to the words. So, here’s my latest poem—straight from my heart to yours. Let your imagination roam, and may these verses find a home in your thoughts. Happy reading!

Screaming for Patience

When I was young—

younger than this—

I had a stomach full of storms.

The kind that clawed from the inside out,

pain so sharp it became a scream,

a scream that tore the air,

pleading with God,

"Help me. Help me bear this."

The vomit came in waves,

each one stealing what little I had,

leaving behind a hollowness,

a raw ache that screamed back at me.

It was a battle of force,

of pushing out pain

while it carved deeper into me.

And now—

Now, the battlefield has shifted.

The pain is quiet but no less brutal.

It’s no longer the stomach

but the soul,

no longer vomit,

but the weight of years,

of tolerating, absorbing, enduring.

My mind screams now,

not with sound,

but in silence that deafens.

My heart shouts,

"God, grant me patience."

But patience feels like sand

slipping through fingers—

useless, evasive, mocking.

I’m losing it—

patience, strength, will.

And yet, I keep screaming,

just as I did back then,

hoping that the storm will pass,

that the ache will ease.

But it lingers,

it stays,

it grows.

So here I am again, God.

Older but still pleading.

Give me something,

anything,

to hold onto—

a thread, a breath, a balm.

Be

cause this pain,

this screaming,

is all I have left.