Rain makes the flower grow,
Rain kills the flower that grows,
Was it him or I that wouldn’t let me grow,
Is it the chicken or the egg that first knows,
Was it pride or shame that brought me low,
Was it I or love that first let go,
My eyes are glassed with tears that dare not rain,
My life is painted with all shades of pain,
What once I loved, I now disdain,
What once was me floats by no more again,
Tears tear down every wall of pain I once ignored,
Cold is a state that lets me be more,
With no hope, no reward,
Of love to keep me warm.
The road I paved was sorely flawed,
My heart is in heat with a song,
That pleads to find a home to belong,
This being has been hollow for far too long.
A lie after a lie became the song I swore,
The darkness became a cloth I wore,
To swim through life to heaven’s shore,
This heart knows no law, it just knows war,
If I had been who I could be,
I would now have been who I should be,
The battle that rages in me,
Between who I was and who I am and who I will be,
Takes no cognizance of how or what or if I feel,
Or why I no more can see.
The fears in my head that keep me dead,
Are often by the monsters in my mind fed,
Fear and sorrow and confusion have only led
Me to curl alone beneath a broken bed.
Darkness stole me from the face of the sun,
The sun turned around and found another one,
The stars found me lying in the dark forlorn,
The sun loved me again when he saw that the stars would not abandon me.
Sorrow in her finite mercies floated these words to me,
And on the days I couldn’t see
I painted souls,
And on the days I couldn’t hear
I painted hearts,
And on the days I couldn’t speak
I painted thoughts,
And on the days I couldn’t feel
I painted desire,
And on the days I couldn’t breathe
I painted air,
And on the days I couldn’t live
I painted love,
And on the days I couldn’t love
I died,
And on the day I died
I painted God.
Jenim Dibie 