David Godot, Psy.D.

Waiting for the breath of life

January 31, 2011 • Creative Writing
Photo by Peggy

I didn’t have a body so I built one out of scraps,
dragged it over rocks and beat it against mountains
until it was hard and smooth.

And I saw a vision
of earthquakes,
lava,
morbid obesity and sullen loneliness.

I saw the body of Christ as an ice sculpture,
saw wasted sex and empty generations.

I didn’t have a spirit so I stole one out of the wind,
held it captive in a dark room and fed it propaganda
until it was ready to submit and join the cause.

And I saw a vision
of bands and battalions,
drunk power,
angelic laughter,
of poetry and passion in disarray.

I saw the pain of soulfulness,
the way music forgets itself
and dreams dissolve into mystery,
longing.

I didn’t have a voice so I slept with demons,
soaking up their cries a single word at a time
until I had enough for an incantation of my own.

And I saw a vision
of worlds coming together,
a birthplace for gravity and
natural love.

I saw myself drawn with no outline,
a warm bath in the space between spaces,
saw words gather together and take arms.

I didn’t have a history so I invented one,
drew a name out of the waters and a face from the ages
and negotiated the terms of their surrender.

I saw a vision of you,
becoming your dearest wish.

I saw a vision of all of us,
building ourselves up out of dust,
forging our names into flesh.

I saw the truth growing out of nothing,
waiting for permission,
waiting for the breath of life.