Pressure Point

I am a Sunday morning
would-be suicide
in the sun
shine

But instead I suck it up
and numbly drive
to church

slip in the back
sit in the back
feel the presence
the pressure of Him
pushing the tears
out of my bones

they exit my eyes
like gated steeds
they've waited so long


the veneer has worn
so thin
I seethe beneath a skin
that can no longer contain me
my cup is full
and I'm spilling over

God,
please,
catch me
stop me
hold me
contain me.


© 2000 David Christie
 
   
Note: This site describes Peterson Toscano's work until late 2003. See PetersonToscano.com for current info.