A Broke Down Warrior Says a Prayer
by Robin T.
I had given up on my marching orders
when I took the shot to my gut.
Herein lies the ultimate prayer to the higher self
As it watched the root of my soul lay bleeding like an ulcer.
Open—red—yielding its wound for mankind.
Remarkably my heart remain untouched –
that sour and bitter irony – when all these years it was
the heart that I had worked to protect, to shield
and self-torture in dark moments.
But the barren bitterness, the emptiness
the sheer loneliness could only be
felt at the pit of my gut as it lay in tatters and ribbons
and rolled across the dirt floor
in a convoluted pattern of shame.
I knew better than to hang on, to hold out
like some outcast woman too old to care,
when clutching could only make the pain more intense
as it gripped and rolled like a thundercloud – as if I could hear
the crashing sounds of a 100-year-old secret,
a 100-year-old story
screaming unspoken memories,
a torrent of life’s pictures across my mind.
It was in this graceful moment when I
finally gave in, finally gave up and my iron-clad will
loosened its grip on this torrent
it could never hold back.
It was in this final moment of deliverance
that the broke down warrior said a prayer.