Can’t Be True?

A poem about emerging self-belief and self-esteem.

Image Credit: 
© 2015 Seb Reilly / Used With Permission

Out of the depths something emerges,
A friend arriving through fog,
The edges that scraped,
Nails on a blackboard
Now muted by gloves,
The points that wounded
With poisonous inflammation,
Blunted by empathy,
Years of erosion of spirit,
Driven by the callous Should!
Finally grit smoothed into a pearl?
Maybe.

But:
The depths are deep,
The fog thick,
The grit hard,
Not impervious like diamond
But resilient,
With cruel vertices
Edged with bitter pain,
And doubt,
Can nascent belief persist,
When battered by the callous Should?

That friend to me,
It’s there, emerging,
A different reality,
As seen by others,
But never by me,
Recently buoyed by could,
Could it be true?

Beating against the callous Should,
Tacking into that tiresome headwind,
Yet making progress,
Indirectly,
Towards self-belief,
Belief that those cruel vertices,
Internal blades and barbs,
Are not real,
Only the product of a sad mind,
Dissociated,
From warmth that now
Burns away fog into mist,
A beautiful morning emerges,
A brand new day ahead.

James is a pseudonym for a local writer who, after a long hiatus, is exploring poetry again.

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