I rise up and out of myself --
A pathetic mass contorted upon the floor.
Ascending higher to escape the suffocating grasp of failure.
Appealing to the angels:
May be the slightest taste of heaven will banish the bitterness
From my tongue and replenish my thirst for life.
I see my face.
Pained and stained with tears.
My body convulses violently,
Trying to shelter the hurt and the fear.
I turn away, hating to see myself like this.
Even hovering above myself, I feel the knot in my throat.
"Help me," I cry.
It is not the angels that I implore.
I long for God himself.
Afraid that if the knot unravels, I could not
Bear the truth of failure.
Unable to contain it, the knot loosens, falls apart.
I descend heavily.
Drowning in sorrow and regret.
"Help me. Please."
I am left alone with myself.
To realize that more than ever I need God's unchanging hand.
A quiet assurance envelops me.
Now a low ebb, the pain persists.
Carefully, I collect the shards of my self-esteem --
Delicate, fragile pieces.
Finally one again with myself,
Look upon the burning sunrise.
God is here. Within me.
Bringing the hope of a new day.
The promise of redemption.
No longer flung upon the floor.
Rather erect with confidence.
Confident that God heals all.
"Thank you," I whisper.