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,

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

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.

.

.