Let Me See What You See
She fell to her knees before me.
Her head down like a pathetic wolf.
The stain of a tear on the floor.
Lifting her head with vile anger;
The sunlight hardly poked through the ceiling holes,
But the desert encroached with tiny sand bits.
Rows of tattered pews, some smashed.
An altar, the ceiling hole naturally the largest above it.
Boring colors, turned brown by time.
Eroded by moisture fluctuations.
She still knelt there, sobbing
As if I was the God to answer her question.
Within moments I had turned,
Headed towards the double doors,
One smashed and hanging sideways
On a soul remaining hinge.
I heard her stumble behind me.
Heard her trip, mumble.
Her foot hit the ground with force,
Grabbing my arm;
She only looked at me in the eyes.
It was like I could feel her.
Her pulse rang through my ears,
The strength and power,
Her energy in my own hands.
Such brilliance, as I saw the colors,
The colors she created,
I had never seen.
The way purple took hold of green,
And danced across the floor and up the wall,
To the sun,
I grabbed her hand and ran outside.
She glowed as the blues and pinks
Enveloped the sand,
Like nothing I had ever seen.
Then it vanished.
My hand hit my own side with a thud.
She stared at me
With the same expression I had always had.
Even though right now
For the very first time,
I was only smiling.
Comments about this poem (Let Me See What You See by Emily Beck )
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