This was written at a very difficult and low time when I couldn’t seem to get a grip on life. The title stems from wondering- if I were to put this on Facebook as my status how many ‘likes’ would I get? After all you’re meant to be happy all the time, aren’t you? No, you don’t have to be happy all the time and wear a smiling mask only BE YOURSELF. As I conclude the poem I realise afresh that the only ‘help that helps’ is the power from on high, The Lord Jesus. Psalm 121:1&2- ‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’
Crying without tears, screaming without sound, paining without scars.
Conversely concerned not with healing rather, worthiness.
Sorry for selfish sits so badly.
Too busy to stop, to see, to sigh with results.
Vision obscurred not by blurred salt clarity
Only fuzzy-minded blank, misfiring synapses.
Tired, so tied, so tiresome;
Wearying numb pervading each inch like seeping grey spreading up and
Prayer’s sigh-arrow fired at the throne
Immediately retracted, replaced, rehashed with tendons bend and bow.
Energyless crumpled submission, supplication’s suffering.
No earthly tool can reach inside. Know how? No how.
This world’s never credentials complete.
Sky help fall into me burning away, lighting anew, reviving the core.