Metanoia

Metanoia

         Metanoia

Originally, I had intended to write magnificent
meaning into the lives of young adolescents,
who, knowing truth fully (as all youth do),
are unable to create a “raison d’être” out of
knowledge confined to text.

Daily, I mounted my virtual podium and lauded
scholastic aestheticism, striving with all my might
to reduce higher order thinking into sound bites
to grab the attention of indifferent teens.

Frustration led to silence followed by inept attempts
to listen inwardly for direction and outwardly for
understanding. Tentative steps led to bold moves
to connect, enlisting creativity in budding minds.

I opened to voices too often denied utterance.
Unfolding before me were lives fraught with
inexplicable pain and suffering, resentment and
rejection, but mostly, resignation as they complied
with a system stripped of the ability to empower.

Increasingly powerful usage of words as tools
began to exorcise the grip of evil from young hearts
subject to the choices of others; others who hurt
without thought the little ones within their care;
little ones now trapped in adolescent fury.

New words tumble through me, beseeching the author
of all to use me to enfold the lost with healing life.
Weeping, waiting, praying enable me to accept the
burdens of empty others in exchange for budding hope.

[Viscera tainted with the sallow mauve of neglect, guts
shot through with sharp scarlet needles of rage that
writhe round the sickly puce of fear. Repulsive hues
cripple my organs, slice arteries to shreds, choke veins,
stain my soul.]

Miraculously, transferred wounds ooze unearthly crimson,
blending new shades of regal purple, strong ebony, and
living green. Hideous scars transfigure into deeply defined,
intricately cut, pulsing tattoos living on the inner folds
of my being as agony transforms into vivid, healing designs.

I bear witness to the suffering of others before the throne
of grace, seeking the power of the resurrection; power
revealed as I revolve in the multi-hued, iridescent
rainbow of searing, cleansing white light.

Outwardly, listening silence allows youthful voices to question
without fear of hurt. Young feet lightened by release from burdens
too long carried dance with hope, while light flows through
my pores, enabling youth to respond to the balm of grace.