CRIPPLED by Mide Benedict

Can I do this! Can I go! Can I get out! Can I overcome?

My heart began to thump very high. I knew I should have faith, I knew that was the only thing that could bring me out of the mess. I've heard the pastor, my mother had said it, that with faith all is settled, but with this trouble...! Ah! with this trauma, what I feel is fear, fear that runs through all parts of my liver, and detaches my Strength from my strength. Ah! I've failed to learn! Ah! I cannot stand, Ah! I've been overshadowed by that which I ought to have overpowered a long time ago.

What I have is not faith, No, that is gone, No! it's still there, but fear has covered it, fear has sucked it out of me, leaving a mirage of its real self, No! it has solidified it, making it flowless and stagnant.

If only I could have prepared myself for long; praying, reading the word and building up myself in my most holy faith, praying in the Holy ghost, then I could have become the fear of faith which my fear will fear.

Can I do this! Can I go! Can I get out! Can I overcome?

Suddenly, I woke up and began to ponder on the questions I asked in the dream.

And the answer was 'yes', only If I start building myself up now.

Then I thought, what if I was in that position in reality, what could I've done. It was then it came, a short answer, ' It only gets better with Christ and my faith in him keeps me sane.'

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This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict

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Don’t hold me down L ike I’m in some cave Just like a bird flies Where nothing breathes light Through a hidden dark sky L ike an existence lost in inexistence, Locked up in a bottle T hat only lives every day in an every minute coffin Tightened with an unbreakable cover. Free me I said, but you brought me this! What freedom is more painful than Eye balls without sights; faith without work like To walk on a spot; Mountains tied to your legs While eyes go dark As you walk unmoving: In a place surrounded by light; What a freedom! Image from : http://theadventurehandbook.com

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