I Close My Eyes and Breathe

Someone,
                  or something,
stole me away,
sold me a bill of goods,
and silenced my soul.

What day is it?
Saturday – Sunday?

Who cares?
The incessant measuring of our life
has got to stop.

Drip - drop
goes the water into,
                  and now spilling over,
the bucket I call my life.

I use anger to contain
the reservoir of my sadness.
These words become the spillways
                  holding
me all together.

There are no maps
and no clear instructions.
If I go,
                  and I must go,
I will leave
not heeding the warnings,
no protection – no way back,
and no assurances
I will find what’s needed
to carry me home.

I close my eyes.
I close my eyes and breathe,
expecting to hear the next line –
                  words
to push me out the door.

Instead I am eerily silent
and strangely patient.
My soul is waiting and ready.
My breath is shallow.

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This poem was written on October 21, 2025.