The Nothing-Place

Dedicated to Ella Mae Natvick and her personal and literary journey through

"The Nothing-Place"

 

I’ve come so far—no turning back,
this prodigal—now almost home.
A foolish, selfish, childish soul—
thought I was better off alone.

The fancy-free that beckoned me,
that temptress—worldly pleasure,
ransacked my spirit, starved my being—
corroded, languid treasure. 

Still, here I lie in pain and dust,
as mind craves at forgiving sky—
with all my thoughts and inner voice,
berated choices screaming, "Why?!" 

The girl I was—who knew no wrong,
who held such promise in her hand,
is now but bones with guilty core—
a wilted flower of the land.

No force of man forbade return—
yet, still I kept myself away.
Believing that, should I find home,
I wouldn’t have the strength to stay.

In fearful mind I saw the stones,
the hurdled judgments of their glare,
when scars—long wounded—tear again,
from painful word and hateful stare.

What brought me here—this place, this far?
An Unseen Hand pulled at frayed strings
to lead me to this memory-grain
that feeds the layman and the kings.

I’ve come so far—no turning back.

This withered frame—too frail to touch,
has crept along pride’s final path,
refusing any help or crutch.

What will I meet when closer still,
attempting journey through a crawl?
I lift my eyes to what could be
but can’t recount the trek at all.

Crumpled here, a humble shell,
result of world revolving me—
a Figure starts a running pace,
this dream I knew, and now I see.

From dirt and wheat and grassy hill—
I’m lifted, carried as a child.
The fearful creature that I was 
had joined the crypt with past—defiled.

Restored and grateful, here I lay,
in arms that never closed the door,
expecting one day I’d return—
a hope discharged from self-made war.

I see the shelter of my home—
my safety lies in Love’s embrace.
Forgiveness—crowding out the shame
from tattered, worthless, nothing-place.