WHAT ABOUT ME?

WHAT ABOUT ME?

What wrong have I done, to you, that I deserve this fate? What great burden, was I? You couldn’t even wait, to see what I looked like. The devil's Instrument cuts me in pieces—like piercing thorns. This torment of pain, why? What have I done? I could have loved you, so easily. I didn’t get a chance, for my hand, to touch yours. Your warm body has fed me, now you cast me out, like some tumorous disease! 

You have taken all of my life away. All of it! All that was to be possible—gone! Where do I go? I am lost! I am nobody! I am no more! This miraculous gift, thrown into the garbage. I am garbage; bleeding; tormented by the devil's hand. 

My Blessed Mother gathers up my pieces; and weeps! She has no words—only tears of sorrow, for another, another, another! The devil has won again, and again, and again! 

What choice did I have? There was only one of me, to be; no other just, like, me! EVER! 

You, don’t hear my torment—do you? 

These piles and piles of pieces, now fill the Inn. It is full! There is no more room at the Inn—again! 

This is the Holocaust! It again rages on! This time, it is just children—tiny, tiny, small, children! The devil speaks. Who cares to stop him? Again the shadow of evil portrays the priority of luxury! 

Love? You could not do this, and love! NEVER! In a moment's pleasure, I was made to be. In a moment's curse, I am gone! What about me? 

How sad, I have no birthdate. No party—no friends. I belong to no one—I am incomplete. Pieces of me just float—no where to rest. I don’t know who I am—I have no name. I have no purpose—I have been cut off, from my spiritual destiny. 

Maybe I was to be, a police officer—to protect you; a healer of the sick; a leader of government; a teacher; a taxpayer. So many things I could have been. 

Mom, I could have held your hand when you needed someone. I could have given you a flower, or card, and shared life together. You would have been proud of me, because I really cared, about you! I could have; I would have; but now I am nothing! 

We shall meet again; my tears of compassion wait for you. In purgatory, you shall search for my tiny parts, putting me together, piece by piece. How long shall it take? Eternal work, perhaps! Searching through so many piles of parts, how will you find me? I will look for you. I know what you look like. We were meant to be, from the beginning. You will understand my torment when you see me. What will you say to me—even if you, could look at me? 

Could you take my pieces down from my tiny little, cross? Could you take out my thorns one by one and give me rest? Maybe now could you love me? I wait and wait! 

My spiritual pieces float—clinging for peace—but the devil's darkness, chases me! 

What about me? 

No PRESENT! No PAST! No LIFE! No CHANCE! No CHOICE! Only—NOTHING!

Robert J.Varrick

rjvarrick@gmail.com