In the deepest part of the night
When silence replaced commotion
And the cries of suffering souls
Were more easily discerned,
My path intersected with yours;
Our words becoming interwoven
On the electronic page.

You who questions
In a half-sorta-kinda way
(Was it sarcasm dripping:
I’m still not sure)
Like a lightning bolt that
Flashed deep into my soul
To that faraway place
Of transcended yesterdays.

There,
I had fought my way
With submission and suicidal self-loathing
Out of school buses ruled by bullies
And into those governed by men
Who sought to take that which no one gives
And repulsed those beasts with such rage
That they rightly feared for their lives.

I, who have seen childhood nights
Blossom into hells created by psychosis
And rage by those who parented me,
Learned to know me
Learned to know waking and dream worlds
As safe and loving
And learned to challenge evil
At its every turn on my path.

Imperfect, I
Shattered windows, walls,
Windshields, and hearts
During my clumsy evolution;
Those painful episodes
And subsequent amends
Now distant mileposts,
But always significant lessons.

Yes, your words
I gave immense power
To take me to such places,
To recall being so hurt,
So sensitive that my only safety
Was so far deep inside my writing
That nothing and no one could harm
That nothing and no one could enter.

Too,
My words and wit
Once won me many a fight
(Or, misunderstandings that
Evolved into silly battles of egos)
That served only to bloody the souls
Of all involved.

Those, too, are of my past.
I will not hide my faith,
I will not rage on you or me,
I will not dig deep into you
And subject to ridicule
Your motivation,
Your being,
Your pain,
Your path.

Instead,
I who learns,
I who meditates,
I who listens to The Angels,
I who knows my path
And respects you on yours;
I send in The Angels
And embrace gratitude
Because I can turn my cheek.

© copyright 2016 John David Higham