34.  Bringing Myself Back to Life

My kind of heart-

ache

is the cyclical sort

Where no words

can be mandated

Or directions

prescribed.

For all along,

I was a lifeless

doll,

bringing myself back

to life,

And what kind

of dedication

That takes

to keep from dulling

The anxious nerve,

The wayward "zap"

That electrifies bone

And revs the flesh.

And all I can think

of is someone like

Ezekiel given his stubborn

streak and who wept

bitterly and angrily

Because he didn't want

to go.

And whose face

was harder than granite

But whose heart was soft

like mine, revved and zapped

with no directions or mandates

except for the mighty word

of the Lion of this universe,

And why can't that ever be

Enough?