Watching Death's Door

Darkened mind, disheartened find.

Streaming tears, flowing fears.

Sunken dreams, drunken screams.

I am spiraling down this rabbit hole as I sit here waiting for death's door to open. There is no light at that door; it’s dark, a cave with no end.

My eyes are bruised with nightmares—no sleep day or night. The outbursts are lonely, hurtful, and degrading.

I feel forgotten, left behind.

Missed my ride, whisked aside.

Closed my eyes, haunting cries.

Broken love, spoken dove.

I watched the dove as it flew so gracefully.

At first, I did not want to look; the beauty was too much for me.

My eyes were opened by command. I knew this flight was mine to see.

Mother seeking, brother speaking.

Children laughing, smiles passing.

Filled my heart, rebuild art.

In the laughter and familial sounds, a joy filled me to lift me up.

It was not by my own doing, but by divine grace that I met with this vision.

It shook my hand and gave me a hug.

It whispered in my ear and kissed me with encouragement.

I stood and walked like new again, but this time with the confidence of knowing

I can turn away

from that which makes me hopeless.

Death’s door is not the end; it is the beginning.