Muffled

There was a spring, filled with cool water and warm days.

Gentle

     rains

        that

             made                                                                    me smile,

 storms

           that

                made                                                           me ache,

 Winds that made                                                        me free.

 Right there in the middle of everything,

for no reason at all, there was this hole.  

I remember thinking:

"it's just a small thing.

No big deal.”

 

  Then I found myself at the bottom.  It wasn't deep.  Not at first. 

Plenty of sunlight streamed in overhead and I heard running water;

and birds.

It was colder than I liked, but there were patches of warmth.

It wasn't so bad.

a little sad,

but not bad 

 

 

Sometimes the hole felt deeper 

was deeper.

The sun didn't shine those days.  It was damp.

 

Still, there were kisses and nice dinners and drinks and casual friends, With a few nights of real heat.

I would smile then, glad to be out, believing I was out.

 

But always there was a false patch of ground up somewhere ahead,

between me and my stream.

No matter how lightly I stepped, how hard I tried,

I'd find it and with clumsy feet I'd break the pie thin crust

tumbling

                      back

                                      into

                                               the hole.

At times I understood.

It was always there.  Always the same. 

I had been in it hundreds of times before, and it was never a big deal.

Stumbled, fell, jumped, sank.

Always temporary. Always finding my way back.

 
But the people.  The ones I

Needed to extend friendly hands,

secure me with loving embrace;

warm me with sweet words;

and restore me with the small acts of kindness.

 

They had gone. 

Faded.

Left.

Leaving only false images.

So for now, I am alone in the dark.

And it's cold. And I'm sad.

A little scared.

But there is a warmth in me as well.

A spark. Something beautiful.

Something I don't always see, but others may.

Somehow there are always others that see.

And they will come. 

They will come with their own dark places

And we will help each other climb out into the heat.

We will bathe in the springs and find things

forgotten and lost and familiar

in each other.