Cross to Bear

A cross to bear, a burden of hope,
let loose thy anguish upon my shores.
I am the harbor for storms untold,
a vessel cracking under grief I’ve hoarded.

Empty hollows, now filled with doubt,
a festering wound I can’t live without.
The self-hating stigma, my shadowed guide,
a chain that binds me, no matter how I hide.

Pillars of facade crumble to dust,
illusions I’ve built corrode with rust.
The masks I wore to keep the world at bay
collect in ruin, congealed in slush and hate.

Traction escapes me, yet here I remain,
a puppet to my own self-inflicted pain.
Bemused, I play the fool in my own court,
a jester of tyranny, where darkness cavorts.

The laughter fades, replaced with a sigh,
as I dance on the edge, waiting to fly.
But wings are clipped by the weight of regret,
a prisoner to choices I wish to forget.

Hope, that cruel mistress, dangles her thread,
promising light while leading me to dread.
What is this anguish if not my own design?
A labyrinth of suffering, where shadows entwine.

So let loose thy storms upon my soul,
let the waves crash, let the thunder roll.
For I’ve grown weary of this hollow pretense,
of hiding my pain behind walls so dense.

Yet here I stand, bemused and alone,
a tyrant to myself, flesh and bone.
For the cross I bear is not of divine,
but the weight of a heart that’s lost in time.