DRAWING ME IN
I thought I was a goner, falling into the abyss,
Dreamed of friends and loved ones I knew that I would miss,
Thought of goodbyes to my lover fair, as I ran my fingers through his hair.
How could I have missed the clues that Fate had left behind,
A wonderland within my reach, of roses and of wine.
How could I have misread the message in the bottle,
That whispered strength to forge ahead, with full and open throttle.
How could I have ascertained that life was for the taking,
Too depressed to lift my head and calm my inner shaking.
I thought the world was bitter and left no opening,
For a man consumed with stiffness, absorbed with merely coping,
Who built those tall and rigid walls still surrounding him.
Who decried his place in history as a man made out of tin,
All the time I spent shutting out with bitterness within,
The world in all its majesty was merely drawing me in.
Drawing me in to the sacredness of the moment,
Opening my sad eyes to a brand new day,
Another 24 hours, another 60 seconds,
Is all we are promised anyway.
I thought life was a chore I could do without,
That I could not begin again,
Yet all the time I spent shutting life out,
I found life was drawing me in.
Drawing me in to the banquet table, pointing the way to the feast,
Turning away the angry young man and harpooning the savage beast.
Sending a bucket of sorrows not rightfully mine over the waterfall,
Teaching me in the days that remain the importance of standing tall.
Have pity on the hopeless man who believes his bitter lies,
Set to cut the binding cord and sever all his binding ties.
Heaven help the desperate man, gun pointed at his head,
Whose steps fall hard and wooden, whose arms are stiff as lead.
Lead all the sick to justice, give them strength to cope,
With the albatross of sorrow comes a talisman of hope.
Turning me away from my darkness and bile,
Replacing my forlorn frown with a smile,
Leading me to a sheltering place,
That covers me with hallowed grace.
If only for another 24 hours, or the sixty seconds I have left.
I can be a joyful man or I can be bereft.
To everything there is a season, we must not fail,
To give our melancholy and our grief its due,
But then let out your billowing sail,
Leave some room for happiness too.
I thought I was too late to the ball,
I never went to my senior prom,
Was all too poised to call it quits,
My soul a walking time bomb.
I thought the world a tragedy, until it showed me otherwise,
And cast a knowing look upon me with kind, compassionate eyes.
I decried my place in history as a man encased in tin,
While all the time I was shutting it out,
The world was drawing me in.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
