Crisis new- number two

A whole new crisis, a whole new fear
Terror stalks me – even here?
What if this is but a dream
God, a fantasy
Life, a myth
Everything that I love but a falsehood
And no way
For me
to scream

What if it’s all some freakish imagining
A crazy person’s hoping
Or even not a person.
What is reality?
What if my soul is not real?
What if life is fleeting to the point it’s not even a breath
More like a cough
Or a choking
A mistake.

Panic builds inside me with every thought
What if
What if
what if

But the gentle murmur of my parents down the hall
Tells me I’m not alone.
Words anchor me to this world
They tell me the forests are made of trees; that every rock is a stone.

The bag boy at the grocery store
With the curly hair;
His friendly greeting.
The woman with the Jamaican accent who remembers my whole family
Who questions where someone is
When they are missing;
These people
Prove to me
The world has kindness in it.
And thus it must be real
It must be solid.

The pain in my side
Where my bone sticks out, misshapen,
Every time I try to lay on my belly;
Proves to me I’m alive.

And last, most important
Most reassuring of all
The God who gave these words to me
Who beckons me;
Who hides from me, so I may seek;
Who leads me to mysteries
And wonders
And beautiful things;
Well, that very God
Crafted me.
He doesn’t make mistakes.
He made this life.
It’s real.
I’m alive.
None of this is a dream,
Or a charcoal mare with mane of night;
The pain is real, the fear is real
But so also is real
The light.


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