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 on that side

of the fence;

I have been where they are.

Like a giant vacuum,

it sucks you into

the deep murky mire,

echoes from below

cry out within,

as visions of madmen

standing on the platform,

waiting for a train

that never comes,

flash before your burned out

cynical eyes;

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,

as 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.

.

.