The slashing, slashing

I refuse to be locked up by these steely bars
that steal dreams of any joy,
it’s dim down here grasping for shadows in the dark,
these walls are nice sometimes–they limit,
provide warmth for my doubt to fester,
for nothing satisfies, can I smile!? laugh?
hurt–feeling real only when I cry,
am I supposed to chuckle?

but I heard water the other day,
distant, but a roaring deluge,
I don’t know how to swim!
as the water rushes in,
deep in this dark cistern

to the thigh–to the nose,
I can’t touch, my neck extends,
forced to turn to float–
splashing–slashing the water
to grasp the slick brick
where the missing mortar fell,
so long ago–

rising, rising,
I’m slashing, slashing,
as the well fills,
I spill out upon the muddy ground,
the clouds clear,
a shaft of light,
blinds me.
Will I burn?

In Your bottle

You keep my tears in your bottle
Recording every drop on paper.
A deluge of hope in me
Saturating my struggle
With compassion and empathy.
It’s easier to hate this pain
Than love the causes of my cries
For mercy.
You make them bearable
So I don’t succumb
To my fears.