For the First Time

I read their poems,
I feel their rage,
I see their sadness,
I understand their frustration,
I know their darkness;

I have been where they are,

I have been on that side
of the fence,
like a giant vacuum,
it sucks you into
the deep murky mire,
while echoes below
cry out from within,
visions of madmen
standing on the platform,
waiting for a train
that never comes;

I have been to their edge.

This body fades,
for the first time
words come to life,
for the first time
the possibilities
far outweigh the
realities;

for the first time
I am clean.

The pain grows,
you hold it inside
like a deformed child,
locked away,
out of sight,
out of mind;

no one listens,
no one sees,
no one understands;

but You.
.
.