Stephen Fuller *** Poetry, Essays

Fast, a poem by Stephen (reformatted)

I want to fast today, to blank my stomach
As my mind drains all memory of food, dissipates
The nutrients into my flesh for one last push
Of the rock. If, perhaps, I allow the rock to crush
Me into the dirt will He make me get up and try
Once again. Even when I am weak, I push.

I push even when I am weak… I must push.
The smile that sleeps on the other side of the wall
Compels me. Like a God through thin walls,
He must hear me breathing, as I hear Him.
When will He tear this facade down and show
Himself? I beg and I beg, believing it this time.

If I am weak enough, will the dread be enough
To compel from Him, mercy. I long to just speak.
My voice a bare whisper, the words formed
From the shouts inside my head leaking out,
Might be loud enough to hear, I can hope, or
Might be like formless tendrils of vacating breath

That are shaped from pure thought, temperamental.
Here, where questions lie, answers are anomie
To the need that drives me up the hill again
And again. I want to fast today, to let inside
My soul the emptiness that surrounds
Flesh like water wanting to fill my lungs.

(C) 2020 Stephen Fuller

17 Responses to “Fast, a poem by Stephen (reformatted)”

  1. ivor20

    “If you whisper authentically
    Authenticity will listen intently” …… ~ Ivor Steven

    “Of the rock. If, perhaps, I allow the rock to crush
    Me into the dirt will He make me get up and try
    Once again. Even when I am weak, I push.
    I push even when I am weakโ€ฆ I must push.”
    The above lines are superb Stephen, and I’ve an appropriate Aussie song and video clip for you…. enjoy…

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  2. Tanya Cliff

    โ€œMy voice a bare whisper, the words formed
    From the shouts inside my head leaking out,
    Might be loud enough to hear, I can hope, or
    Might be like formless tendrils of vacating breath
    That are shaped from pure thought, temperamental.โ€

    Profound piece, Stephen. I especially like this section. Those thoughts leaking out of are heads are, I suppose, the seeds of our poetry and prose. We bleed on the page.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
      • Stephen

        Sorry I didnโ€™t give you a better response earlier, I was running out the door getting my son to school.

        This poem contains one layer which is about writing, but another one about the existential angst of certain moments of life… that is the โ€œbutโ€ of the previous comment and just wasnโ€™t able to get it out in time!

        ๐Ÿค“๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ™๐Ÿค“

        Thank you so much for reading!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Tanya Cliff

        It is more important to get your son to school on time than to type out the perfect response. (I havenโ€™t achieved a perfect response yet)

        No worries, Stephen. I totally see both layers with the poem, which I love, btw. I am working on a few short stories right now…when I read your poem, I felt like I did last night with one of my characters trying to get herself out onto the page through my clumsy fingers. ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿฅฐ

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Basic HTML is allowed. Your email address will not be published.

Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS

%d bloggers like this: