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Blogs > sabrefire45 > The Midnight Ocean > Jul 23, 2008
The Midnight Ocean
  
Reflections, Poetry, and Prose from the depths of the Midnight Ocean.
Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD;
O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. Psalm 130
Behold, the days come, saith the LORD, that I will make a new covenant. After those days, saith the LORD,
I will put my law in their inwards parts, and write it in their hearts; and will be their God,
and they shall be my people. Jeremiah 31:31-33
Wherefore the law is holy, and the Commandment Holy, and just, and good. Rom7:12
Sifatai tiftach- u'fi yagid- tehilatecha!
- If I open my lips- let my mouth- declare Your praise!
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ACQUAINTED WITH SORROW Jul 23, 2008 3:00 am
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Someone showed interest...so...I wrote these as a way of saying something without really having to say anything. Maybe they'll say something to you...

She looks at her watch as she slowly ambles off the bus. 52 minutes early. That'll give her time to get a seat upfront! She gently mouths the words of her favorite gospel, as she makes her way down the newly carpeted hotel hallway. She's given to pause, as her mind takes her back 22 years ago when she'd just had her little baby Paul; and the apartment was fresh with new carpet and endless hope. She caught herself smiling before her heart reminded her why she was here. Reciting portions of Psalm 119 she was able to fight back the coming tears. She reaches the ballrooms door and gives up that $20 bill she's been holding onto for awhile now, to the woman set up at the table just outside. She draws a seat up near the pulpit that's made of particle board and veneer cedar. She rehearses the prayers for healing she'd written down so that G-d may not forget- as the seats fill in behind her. Just before the evangelist walks in, a tall young man who reminds her of her Paul introduces himself. He asks a few questions and says it's also his first time to the convention. She bends the story a bit, but only because she is afraid the tears may again overtake her. "I'm here for my back," she says as she silently wishes it were true. Better her back than having to visit Paul in jail awaiting an uncertain fate. "G-d let him beat the charges and quit with those drugs", she rehearses again inside her head. As the service starts she sings with more soul than anybody else. Her faith alone could fill the room. But when the pastor speaks to her it catches her off guard. He speaks about how G-d told him all about her ailing back, and if she would just so a seed of $100 dollars she would be healed. Her faith drops to the carpet, and she wishes to fly away in her unimaginable sorrow.


The warning call echoed overhead just before the large double doors exploded open with faintly familiar voices shrieking out the "vitals." The gurney came to a halt just a few feet away and was immediately surrounded- as a pride of lions might gather around a fallen zebra. He screams within himself, reluctant to fully accept his new misfortune. He would quit, or collapse if it were not for pride. His wobbly legs are unsteady beneath him. Another 26hour shift! He wants to scream. Nonetheless his exhausted mind screams out commands to the nurses and staff. The patients clothes are sheared off. For the first time in his long career he is frozen by what is revealed. His world grows mute in an instant and the walls close in. His strength falls to the floor. The weight of the world is upon his head; its only light a shaft of illumination upon the fading ink embedded in the mans flesh some 60 years ago. The number once the mans name.
"Dr. Rothstein?" He hears momentarily before the back of his head strikes the cold tile of the ER's floor.

Her eyes are laden with emotion the least of which is not regret. She continues to trace the top of her latest glass with her finger as she stares about blankly. Staring as a prisoner might out of their cell, toward something unattainable. Freedom. Happiness. She's gazing upon a wooden sea of flesh and glass. The music is deafening, the awful buzz of muddled voices- simply overwhelm her senses. But, her mind is light years away. She's back there, on the beach walking hand and hand with him again. Back when she felt whole.
She staggers to the exit with a sense of purpose, adjusting her scarf on the way. She reaches the street just in time. The tears pierce the chilly air like salty droplets of freezing rain.
Alone again.

Lovesick,
sabrefire

Copyright © 2008 MAS
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