There was a flashing light leaking from the door behind me.
My matted hair, laying down on what I thought were purely down pillows,
Down with me?
No, I was attacked over and over.
Feathers that once comforted my head now stuck to my body,
A sore sight to onlookers.
Soiled socks from the long, difficult journey.
Soot soaked clothing from fires I tried to put out from my past,
Tempted, I slipped into a frigid, somber space,
Surrounded with promises of nostrum for pain,
Bottles labeled with concocted tags of
Safety, hope, peace and love.
Why did I feel hopeless?
Retrieving every bottle, from every shelf,
Filling my bag of knowledge,
Doubtful, I concluded I needed these for the next room.
Filling the bag to its heaviness,
Attaching this weight to my previously laden body,
Believing in the artificial elixirs, stale pills and fortuneless powders.
Where were the flashing lights?
Peeking from the window of condensation,
Dividing this room from a bloodthirsty storm,
Rain bruises the outer surface of the window,
Threatening to deplete the contents of my bag.
A flash of lightening irradiates the room,
Exposing two hefty bottles left on the shelf.
Without room in the bag, I stubbornly haul the bottles in my hands,
Walk briskly to the next door, I try,
Arms filled, back weighted, bag burdensome
I struggle, feeling the continuous sharp chill of the current room, the storm.
I place confidence in needing what I carry.
I pray for God's help, "Open this door for me, please."
Tears streaming, along with the rain,
Which is dampening my bag?
I put down one bottle to reach for a smaller one: Hope.
Gulping it down, the liquid lifts my spirits,
But only for a second.
I grasp the larger bottle again and proceed without a free hand.
"Open this door for me, please."
I attempt to turn the knob, warm in a room of a stifling nip.
I place the top of one bottle from my hand in my mouth.
I must carry this, I had to take it with me.
Unexpectedly, the door unlatches,
Light rushes in the gloom.
I fall back, dropping to the ground of hurt, pain, dirt and dust,
Every bottle breaking, cracking, oozing, spreading,
It all falls down
Every bottle, the burden, and i
Feeling lost without my bag and two bottles
I squint as the door continues to creak open,
Manifesting the clean floor and open, sunny window on the other side.
I push myself, up,
Not even considering taking something with me,
Recognizing I could make it to the next room,
Without the bag filled.
No longer carrying too much to open the once closed door...