Beyond the purple linen and red silk,
Down the hall of painted masks,
I found the old, oak door;
This time, it was open.
As I opened the door wider,
It groaned from deep within.
Stagnant air greeted me with a kiss
While I slowly entered into the room.
Darkness peered as I felt my way to the window,
Soft thuds could be heard as I bumped into heavy obstacles . . .
Under my feet lay broken pieces of what was once art
That crunched beneath each step.
Finally, I found the windowsill and pulled up the shade.
Dust spewed forth as the shade rolled up in agony . . .
Then Light showed me your room, your secret place.
Dreams that we have worked on together
Were now shattered pieces of pottery on the floor;
Your prayers, written on paper, lay scattered
All over from a raging tempest of frustration, bitterness, confusion . . .
A restless spirit rearranged the room,
Sweeping love off the tables and unto the floor.
Jagged diagonals cut across the mirror on the wall;
You hated whatever you saw and wanted it gone;
You wanted it all gone.
Oh, my child!
Do you know how much I wanted to hold you,
To love you and help you?
I knew you were hurting;
I wanted to get close enough to heal you,
To clean up this mess.
However, I knocked upon your door seventy times seven
And it remained shut . . .
You left the door open for me.
Now that I have seen what I’ve always known,
My heart, like everything else in this room, is broken.
As for now, I can only sit down
Amidst your wounded heart
I love you.