Spheres

I open my mind's lid like the drawer of a filing cabinet.

It is the place where thoughts, dreams, and memories thrive.

Letters of knowledge organized just like books in a library.

They are dusted and neatly shelved in their respective places.

But why waste time? I put them in a sphere to protect them.

And I put the sphere in a folder with all of the other spheres.

Godly thoughts, righteous thoughts, pure thoughts in spheres, all in a column.

 

My collection helps me create relationships.

Each sphere a light tower to reconcile with others.

Sometimes someone in my life feels lost or hurt.

Down comes a sphere to save the day.

With the help of the Son of God, it is effective.

 

One night after another, more dreams.

One person after another, more spheres.

Deeper and deeper my fingers descend.

Like exploring beneath the open ocean, discovering the wonders and secrets hiding in the cover of darkness.

Diving and diving.

Pushing and pushing.

 

I blow dust from the spheres' surfaces.

There is a feeling in me that time did not pass.

My empty drawer does need more of it.

God knows everything, including what I will think, say, and do next.

People in my life look through the filing cabinets' key hole.

 

Finally, the task is complete. I open up, and in come people in my life.

People, including, family, friends, and horrible people, in general, rush to the spheres.

Does everyone want my spheres so much?

I pull each sphere from my filing cabinet, one by one.

Holding them to each and every person.

But every time I give them to somebody, some individuals break them, distort them, and give me unholy thoughts.

Every thought that is hurtful to my faith in God dominates my mind while leaving behind a glassy mess on a floor.

 

When hurt people hurt me, some people in my life backstab me. The latter are supposed to be my allies.

Instead of healthy interactions, there is shouting, blaming, and attacking. Toxic pain.

But all I hear is incoherent babble, folly, idleness, and poison in one's speech and actions.

The projection and manipulation are aimed at my mind.

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741