The blur of my indiscretions shorn away,
Lucidity doesn’t level but lowers
My prospects, thus interrupted, now they
Are directed to one frailer; cowers
The heart, this lovely young woman laid out,
Sylphlike and deranged, bruised red dot welts shout.
I start to seethe, the tentacles of my
Addiction I’ve done very little to fight;
Its tenacity to maraud, rob, ply
Innocence; this pure angelic invite.
God help me! if it is not me to spare,
Give me the strength to save her from this snare!
Gary Edward Geraci
A life long drug addict wakes up in a shelter that he has no memory of entering and recognizes a frail, beautiful young woman still unconscious and suffering. He is at once sickened by the monstrosity of drug use and the cruel indifference it shows to its victims. He wonders, he prays that he may find one last pocket of strength to save her. Or can she save him?
ReplyDeleteMy muse for this poem and the source of its poetic form: “Hope holds to Christ” by Gerard Manley Hopkins