I POINTED MY FINGER AT LOVE

For some reason, I’m stuck again
In a world I know, and another that I am not so sure about
I really wish that I could write better than this tonight,
But sometimes the tongue over powers the pen
The things that I could once touch are still here,
But I can not feel them
Where I once was happy, darkness now lurks
A cloak, draped over open wounds,
Me, a skeleton of a person,
Like the hollowness of an empty house,
I am but an echo,
A person less worthy of anything, let alone anyone else,
I wish I could find Love, and when I found Him, to Love Him back,
But here I stand, shadows haunting my every step,
Deep shadows of those who touched me, and disappeared
I hurt them for it, and to some extent, have never really forgiven myself for that,
Though all of them forgave me
It was I who was lost, me who didn’t let them in
With deafening silence, I pierced their souls,
Or so I thought,
That silence left me, a mess never to be reckoned with,
A screaming whisper,
A hollow house,
A shuddering cold,
A match that refuses to be lit,
And so many more things that I wish not to list, yet I feel I could go on forever
I pointed my finger at Love, and blamed Him
I pointed my finger at Love, and called Him a murderer
I pointed my finger at Love, until all of me was out of me,
My whole life displayed for Him alone to see,
All my faults and frailties,
All the chains and castles and crowns that contained me,
I screamed at Him, and I didn’t care if the mountains heard,
I cried His name until I was mesmerized by it,
I screamed His name, until my voice became a whisper,
And my knees became weak
When it was over, a new silence swept over the calm,
And I found myself accepting Love
And out of the darkness, a dim match was lit
I fell on my face, and He lifted me up
First lifting my body,
Then bringing me to stand
Then holding my hands in His hands
And when He gave me strength, and stayed by my side
I raised my hands, and offered Him my life,
And when It was all said and done
And someone asked how I had battled with the darkness and won
I lifted my hand and pointed my finger at Love.

Though we hate to admit it, sometimes we hide our fire and we say things we don’t mean. And when finally all our friends are offended, or hurt, and leave, the war is not over, though the battle’s seem to be. We find ourselves alone, fighting away every spirit, even the Spirit of God. But even though we turn away, He accepts us back, when we finally realize who we’re pointing our fingers at. And even some of our friends do that. But sometimes we refuse to forgive ourselves, and sometimes that is worse.