You have lived in the valley of death,
You have become accustomed to the dark silence,
the voices, never your own, in your head,
mocking you with their portraits of you,
ugly in their lies, and utterly convincing,
their dirge the only music you hear.
You believed your own death,
believed you were not worthy of more,
content for the crumbs the voices left you,
happy to starve the carcass,
that you were close enough to death
that you could be discarded.
You spoke. A faltering, broken, croaking sound.
A cry. A prayer. Final rites. Your final breath,
a new sound. Not theirs.
Ah, how they underestimated you.
How they misunderstood your God,
his ability to raise the dead and transform the broken.
And with that cry, there was a breath. And another.
There was light, a slow dawn,
once held in thrall by your own words, your submission to false Gods,
now unleashed, light upon light, truth upon truth.
A brightness the wraithlike voices cannot survive,
and their fear becomes evident as their ghostly skin crisps in the sun.
and your truth blooms like crocus in the March snow,
beautiful and defiant,
And not just you. Around you, you see a valley transformed
by a single voice, yours, crying out,
rejecting the dark lies, discovering, even with your last breath,
the light within.
About this poem
I have (and continue to) see far too many people crushed by the abuse, cruelty and manipulation of others. Emotional and spiritual trauma. They are all around us. I have, for a time, been one.
The message of Easter is that we all have value. We are all beautiful. We all have a life worth sharing. And it is available to us to the moment of our last breath.
Love someone today. Let them know. Be the voice of God for someone. Let your light shine.
Off my preachery soapbox.