Help Me Cry

     See but those thick clouds go scattering.
     This storm wants to pass me on by.
          Rain sure does me good
          nowhere near as it should
     when it can't even help me cry.
     I wanted the flood to come take me down.
     I wanted to drown, I won't lie.
          Of most consequence
          is what makes the least sense
     when no heartbreak can help me cry.
     I keep looking every which way half expecting
     I'll miss it. What's wrong with this sky?
          Have I lost all control
          to burnt visions I stole
     thinking vision might help me cry?
     My sky oughtn't be so quiet and empty,
     at least not like my doctors imply
          to be needed to heal,
          when the cure most ideal
     is that void that would help me cry.
     So I'm damned if I sacrifice nothing we'd save
     but then saved if I let myself die?
          It sucks I'll not get
          my face one bit wet
     by a drama that can't help me cry.
     Come back! Black horizon, come back to me
     in the fold of a sunset bled dry
          of all meaning, all gain,
          all compassion, all pain,
          all intention, all that's sane,
          all that raises its eye to the rain
     on my own alone to myself to help me cry.
     David's here with me, been so all along,
     so I'm told. He won't tell me why.
          But how can I give
          him what death had to live
     through to get love to help me cry?

7 Responses to “Help Me Cry”

  1. 2012.04.24 at 5:00 pm

    Oh, sara. Just beautiful.

    • 2 sarachnid
      2012.04.24 at 5:04 pm

      Thank you. This one is far from finished yet. I have pages and pages of notes on it. I still work so slowly now, not like against a strong headwind like I would prefer, but like I’m just plain stuck in mud. So I thought if I didn’t at least get the beginning of this out, it might never make it out of its ditch.

      • 3 De Jackson
        2012.04.24 at 5:21 pm

        Quiet beginnings are always, always good. This one has blessed my morning. Wishing you well-whispered words that fall like gentle rain.

  2. 2012.04.25 at 8:23 am

    I feel like I’ve opened a book dab in the middle, not knowing what’s come beforehand, and still I’m utterly caught up in the imagery and sadness that’s just below each page.

    • 6 sarachnid
      2012.04.25 at 9:04 pm

      Yes, that pretty accurately describes how I feel. Maybe even worse – like I’ve -re-opened this book midway through after putting it down while I slept, then waking with only vague memories of what came in the book beforehand, except when I flip back through the prior chapters I find a lot of it scribbled over, erased away, or even torn out.

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