Drowning in Disdain

She put the earth’s pain between her hands and rolled it to and fro.
Back and forth, hand to hand it grew and stretched like bread dough.
The more she pulled and pounded the bigger it became. The sorrow
in her hands was rising like yeasty grain. She could not let it go,
though it was reaching above her head. She feared if she ceased to
knead it, it would suffocate her dead. So she pounded it with her
fist, knocking it senseless, tough. Exasperated, she wondered, when
is enough, enough?

I am not of this world. Why am I here? she asked with a soundless
voice; as if her fated journey had offered her a choice. My life is
fairly blissful, but I’m tired of carrying this pain. I used to be quite
willing but now I’m drowning in disdain. I feel there is no point.
There’s no hope to be gleaned. These wounded, wounded humans
are too lost to be redeemed.
                                                                    --Rhea Giffin ©2001
                                            Comments on a Lost Society Series

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