Sunday, October 08, 2006


it is nothing

but a burgeoning doubting

in my mind

but a question asked

in secret into

familiar valleys of a

drowned and comfortless pillow

but a tirade of rage

and bitter finger-pointing

to myself and no one,

almost no one, else

but an itch

i have scratched

too many times over

until a wound has formed

until an infection has spread across

the sinews and threads

of the suffocating why

that is my Calvary


only the silence

of feigned ignorance

and duty-bound forgiveness

can make it right.

only my silence.

it is nothing.


Cocaine Jesus said...

but you ARE something and so is this, very introspective, poem.

Anonymous said...

wallowing in your sorrow will get you nowhere. whatever it is, move on! you can do it.

**Silvermoon** GEL said...

I came by after seeing your comment on Blue Rogue's blog hoping you are still writing.
From reading this instant powerful insightful images loomed. I read your words in a rush, identifying with that "finger-pointing" "comfortless pillow", "an itch scratched too many times until a wound"...and oh that deafening "silence."
This struck home.Oh, how I know when one doesn't feel worthy.
Hugs to you across the internet.

cargwaps said...

i'm touched. you're sweet for saying that. thank you.

thank you for your comment. don't worry. i'm not wallowing. as a writer, i just feel a need to write things down like this. sometimes, my feelings are magnified when put down into words because the art takes over. it's my complete surrender to an emotion that would have otherwise faded out. :) thanks for the vote of confidence!

you're such a dear. thank you for telling me how you identified with the poem. it comforts me knowing that someone else understands. do visit again! *hugs right back* ^__^