Saturday, October 1, 2022

That Kind of Wreckage

 



"The best way out is always through."  ~ Rober Frost


Sometimes to stop the fire you have to break down walls

 and other times you must leave some doors closed.

Destruction comes and leaves in different ways,

 like lost sons returning home.

Each one holds a different heartache,

yet the affliction is the same.

It is a painful feeling

when you must watch but cannot fix.

You do not hold the hatchet.

You do not have the power to stop the flames.

One can only pray for healing,

and mercy from that kind of wreckage.

 When the one you love is the soul that cannot run away from the burning building,

but can only go back inside

to save their self.


Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #230.

Come join us!


11 comments:

  1. The anguish in this poem is so stark. In contrast to the shadowy hatchet of the prompt.

    Nice one Carrie

    Much💛love

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  2. This makes me imagine people holding phantom axes, wanting to help. It's a weirdly hopeful image.

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  3. Richly textured thoughts, Carrie. I think of my own sons and how I have to watch and wait from a distance to let them learn how to manage those fires that try to consume them.

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    1. Beautifully spoken Lisa. I think all parents especially of grown kids struggle with this one. Thank you so much for reading and for your thoughts here.

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  4. This is strong Carrie, and sad. So often we see the fire the other person may not see, we might even see the way out —but they must want to leave, lest they perish. I have that right now in my life. A loved one is killing themself slowly — but they don’t have the strength to be saved. Heartbreaking. 😕

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  5. Wow... Carrie, this was so heart-wrenching to read... You are such a powerful writer...

    ~David

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  6. Truly a mother's poem...........I feel every line as I have watched and watched and ached and ached "when you must watch but cannot fix." Love the closing lines - there is hope there, if they finally learn how to save themselves.

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  7. "Loving detachment" i believe it's called, and it's a very tough nut.

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  8. The hatchet reinforces this poem so well. some sidestep, and some rush in.

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