angel-of-grie-Timothy-Faust

I’m hurtling down a very deep, very dark abyss;
Jagged rocks, thistles and brambles cutting into my skin.
Everywhere I bleed
Everything hurts

The journey down is brutal.
It is not kind.
It is not pretty.
Blood smeared on the rocks, dirt under my broken finger nails.
Down, down, down, I’m falling.
There is no hope here.
If there is, I can’t see it.
Or perhaps, I do not want it.

Down, down, down, I go.
But not quietly, or passively
I’m fighting wildly and loudly.
No, I’m not afraid to go down
I’m afraid to keep this red-eyed, snarling beast locked in.
I want to let it out,

To share this soot colored fury with the universe
The darkened, blood-smeared walls,
Ricochet with anger, disappointment, betrayal, and  rage.

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Down, down, down, I go.
Everything is swirling around me.
The darkness is in the air I breathe.
And then, almost before I reach rock-bottom, it catches me.
Cussing, kicking, shoving, I shout:
“Let me go! Damn you! Let me go!”

Silence.
It holds me still.
I’m suspended in the air,
Still in the midst of darkness,
But it holds me still.

No words.
No saccharine words of sympathy.
Just stillness… And silent support.
Then…
From the depths of my soul
I bellow out in despair
Every emotion has a name, everything I feel carries.
So strong, it carries to the top and let’s in a little light,
Not enough to see everything at once.
Just enough to see all around me.

I straighten up myself,
Right my soul.
They are still here, the demons.
I can hear them, feel them sniping at my heels.
But I can also sense it— something higher, stronger, kinder.

So I rise,
With shaky feet,
Bruised beyond belief,
Broken beyond reason
And I start the journey up…

In loving memory of my late father, Commodore Odemairo Francis Uriri Senior (Rtd). July 16 1954 – January 2, 2015

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 The image of the Angel of Grief  is by Timothy Faust via Flickr