"Wrote the Rules"

("Fortunate those whose crimes are carted off, whose sins are wiped
clean from the slate. Fortunate the person against whom the Lord does
not keep score." Romans 4:7,8)

We number our stumblings till we somersault
in bundled tragedy down hills of self loathing in grief.
Numbers numb us in infinite failings. feelings spin like
dizzy tops.

The scoreboard blinks each accusation against us till
we are too far behind to care. numbers never lie. Try
to forget the score, even the score, but mind reminds us
we fail to win.

The crimes pile up, the sins rewritten on each scorekeeper's card
and our faces are white in ashen fear at the judgment. Judge
our mud we've tried to clean. We've played too long
in human fields.

But You Judged the judge who kept our score, You Killed
The law the kept our fear,
You Banished the bondage that held us here
And wrote the Rules in favor and grace
and wrote the Rules in blood.
You wrote the Rules in freedom from fear
and wrote the Rules in blood.


enjoying His good fortune,
Mark P.
lamppoet@minot.com


I used to dance

I used to dance
 An energetic, yet apologetic young rebel
    Dressed in the latest
      Catching everyone's eye
        Making heads turn



            i don't dance anymore
          unless you count
        the grande jettes I do
      en route to the liquor store
    almost content knowing that
  soon
i won't care
                that I used to dance

I used to sing
A soft, shy alto
My heart in every note
Soul soaring up and down the scale


         i don't sing anymore
      unless you count
    the piteous wailing inside
  that I dare not let anyone hear
especially myself
                for I don't sing anymore

I used to write
  Clever essays, witty poems
    Prose to make people laugh
      Quietly proud of the resulting"A" grades
        But much more so that
          I
            Had the power to make someone smile


         i don't write anymore
      unless one counts
    the ephithets that I've carved
  on my skinny arms
and my cellulite thighs
only I read the messages of self loathing
and powerlessness
              For I don't write anymore

I used to play dulcimer
  And clarinet
    And piano
      I was never very good
        My short fingers stretching
          To stroke the keys to a beauty just beyond my reach
            It didn't matter, for the music I heard in my heart
              Was ineffably beautiful, and orchestrated my every move


             i don't play anymore
          and my short fingers
        are scarred from clinging too tightly
      to cheap cigarettes
    and stretch my throat in pain
  as I try to rid myself of yet
another binge of pizza, donuts and despair
             that I don't play anymore


I used to laugh
  And dream
    And dance
I sang
  And smiled
      And created
I clutched bouquets of wildflowers to my small breasts
  While inhaling the unutterable loveliness
    Surrounding me
I made little presents for those I loved
  And for those I wanted to love
  And for those I wanted to love me
I loved, I loved
I used to love
  With fire and passion
Everything and everyone
  I loved everything sweet and good and pretty
    And loved even more so
      Everything which was not
I championed and cherished and lonely
  The damaged
    The frightened and forlorn
      The ugly duckling
        The underdog
My dearest companions, compatriots, yes
They lived in my heart
I lived
  I lived!
    I was so alive


             i'm all gray ash now, and cold
          so cold
        a decaying caricature
      a shadow
    a ghost
  not even worthy of
others' contempt
              -- someone who used to love

and i killed me I killed me I killed me he killed me HE killed me he KILLED me it killed me they killed me and i let him I let them o god I LET them i helped them always the good little girl so eager to please i offered myself I sacrificed myself

because

they were sad and forlorn and lonely and misunderstood and poor so i offered myself I offered myself i DID it not even understanding the ritual just blindly acquiescing confused and in pain but so so glad I was making him happy and making her happy and it killed me he killed me she killed me i killed myself I killed me I killed me o god i killed me


           I
   used
                To

    D
                    A
        Nc
            e

Crystal Coletti

Return to main page