Guilt: My BFF

I crossed the threshold
of a place called Resurrection.
From the rigid, shellacked pew,
I bargain, plead, bargain
for absolution.
Guilt sits beside me.
The hairs on her arm touch mine.
She takes my hand and presses it
deep into her own.
I turn to look into her eyes.
She gazes at me lovingly, longingly
as though she has been waiting for me,
waiting to be my one true friend,
the one true voice in a murky river of blind whispers.
She smiles knowingly.
I bow my head in acceptance of her friendship,
thinking that to be with her is so much more
than I deserve.

I rise to leave and
she shadows my every move.
We are almost one as she reaches for my hand
as the humid air sidles in past the heavy church door.
I look at her once more
knowing if we walk out together
she will be with me always.
I accept her waiting hand,
it is my fate,
and into the waiting world we go…
crossing the threshold of the place called Resurrection,
entering my monogrammed hell.

Days to nights, months to years,
her grip relentless.
I try to peek out at the light
but she buries me a little deeper each time.
She says darkness is what I need and she knows best…
she tells me so.
She is my friend,
the voice I know,
the one I trust.
Her dedication to me unquestionable…
she never leaves my side,
my mind,
my dreams.
She lives in my reflection.

With new reasons I give her to stay,
her position seems so secure…
my life with her to be my only constant.
But then when all seemed lost and
full surrender imminent,
Grace came twofold.
And then once more on Resurrection Sunday,
the ultimate Grace was born bringing with her
the absolution I sought for those that came before.
Grace blinded Guilt with light,
strangled her with restoration,
and buried her with hope.
Guilt’s fingers clinging to me still,
denying her certain demise,
my final push
sent her to the resting place of my
merciless memories and
chance uncharted.
I feel the pangs of lost friendship
tug at me in flashes of
despair, regret, doubt.

Then, I remember she was never my friend,
only my destruction.
Her smile was never inviting,
only chilling.
Her touch never comforting,
only demanding.
Her gaze never loving,
only captivating for all the wrong reasons.
So, I kick a little more dirt over her and
watch her slink down into the foul abyss
birthed from our peculiar friendship,
and I swing Grace around
as we laugh and laugh and laugh.

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3 responses to “Guilt: My BFF

  1. I liked how this ended. It gave hope instead of smothering one in despair. But this poem, described exactly how I feel when darkness and guilt come calling. They seem like such a safe place to rest. Just for a bit, I promise myself and then just a little bit longer, and so on. Finally, before I know it we are having a having a party I want to leave and can’t. It’s always the same. Slowly, I’m learning to say no when they come calling. Thank you, but I’m happy. 🙂 What a beautiful beautiful poem!

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