Forsaken - By Janna Buttrick

To feel trapped

Stuck in a corner – with no escape

Helpless and wandering

Seeking in vain

Wishing and wanting

Waiting to be heard

But no reply is to come

Lost you shall stay

Left wanting

You become a ghost

                                                                                    To others

                                                                                          To self

                                                                                                To God

If there is a God

He is gone – leaving my life to chance

Mere roll of the dice . . . my destiny

Why should I hope?

Why should I pray?

To a God that has forsaken me

To a God that exists so perfectly in my dreams – reality, a twisted image of the dream

Tears fall

Heart beats faster

Head pounds

Vocals SCREAM

But self that is longing goes unheard

                                                                           Is left wanting

                                                                                Out of breath

                                                                                     Cold in the heart

                                                                                          Scared to death

Why trust?

Why wish?

Why hope?

For something, that like childhood dreams of Santa Clause

Is becoming the greatest let down of my mature life

To believe in something in vain

To wish on something unreal

To hope in someone nonexistent

Only hurts

Only breaks

Only tears one apart

In a moments time of being forgotten

I let go

Fall

Scream

Cry

Search

And am LOST

Lost as the damned?

Lost from the lamb?

Lost as a child . . . tears streaming

                                                                              Rushing

                                                                                 Running

                                                                                    Wishing

Wanting to be caught up

Raptured in the moment of – happiness

                                                joy

                                                peace

                                                solace

                                               harmony

                                                nature

                                                LOVE

HELP – If you exist . . . then show YOURSELF

Be real for once

For one – who needs a Father . . . who needs his Son

HELP

Please . . . HELP

HEAL

Please . . . HEAL

Comfort

Please . . . comfort

PROTECT

Please . . . PROTECT me

For I am lost

I am scared

I am fearful

I am a child

I am in NEED

I have been forsaken -- damned

My Elucidation

          I have an illicit relationship with art.

          Ever since I was young I have been drawn to and seduced by it, 

          time and time again.

          For so long I fell into the hands of beauty and surrounded 

          myself in its midst.

          With this came a deafening draw back;

          on my journey to envelop myself in beauty 

          I crucified any work of art   

          that didn’t fill this personification of perfection.

          Now I have discovered an amazing gift, buried inside me, 

          a captive of my ignorance.

          Worlds of opportunities present themselves as I 

          turn the key to each new door.

          My senses go crazy:

          I hear the pounding feet,

          feel the heat,

          smell the gunpowder,

          taste sweet victory,

          and envision the future.

          I’ve evolved from a speck of sand into a mountain,

          a raindrop into an ocean,

          a hermit into a king.

          Now I can examine deeper then the superficial beauty that 

          blinded me from true exquisiteness.

          I discovered my aptitude for interpreting surreptitious 

          meanings implanted in art from all across the ages. 

          Dieu Merci, I have finally escaped my naiveté, 

          and now have a new idolatry for art.

          My world has expanded from illicit relationships 

          with entrancing art,

          to adulterous experiences with the anecdote 

          behind every work of art.

          I am now moving, a stream of words shooting forth.

          I am wind, rustling the leaves of expression.

          I am a spider, spinning a web of words and images.

          I am a fire, burning passionately with new ideas.

          I am abstract a mix of bright colors.

          I am a magician, conjuring something into being where 

          there was nothing before.

          I am a harlot for art.