The Press of Bone and Lead

Tired of the unrelenting anxiety and this feeling of faliure summed up in the way they look back at me.

(all the blank stares and faces looking back at me.)

Tired of thse endless Monday monrnings and that Sunday night dread.

Waiting and waiting, unable to tell him how much I understand now and how sad it is that he is not here for me to tell him.

What do I ask for?

What do I want?

(mostly to do the will of God and as for the rest I remain indifferent…As much as I would like to live a long life…)

I don’t sleep well and I feel desperate to be heard, sometimes I feel that God ignores me.

(“Karras looked up and felt instant dismay, felt the soft crushing weight, press of lead, press of bone…”)

That press of bone and then of lead on flesh and the overwhelming burdens of being sought out for God’s glory with the unending weight of the cross, coming closer to eternity by saying yes.

(even unto death)

This press of bone and lead, the feeling that there is nothing left to give and then still managing to open up the door and invite the person in, even giving them a piece of you to them, to take with them as they leave.

I am irrelevant,

(still I strive to be a servant.)

I am a useful fool,

(a spoke in a spinning wheel.)

No one is standing guard,

no one is questioning reality,

no one is reading the writing on the wall.

The press of bone on lead, pushing down on a tired heart, nothing lost is nothing gained.

I heard the Deacon’s words and I have to say that I did not disagree with him at all,

the press of his words reminded me of how bloody the salvation won for us was and that we are not God’s buddies, best freinds or pals,

his mercy is that we are still alive, he did not gather sinners to him as an affirmation fo their identity but rather to make known the need to change,

I spent the night running through my dreams being held down by the press of bone and lead wondering where the psychic landscape would lead?

Still I knew all he said was true and since he died and rose again there is no need for me ot keep running away.

T.S. Deary

10/31/22 – 11/10/22

Note: The quoted section, as well as the title of the poem were inspired by “The Excorcist” written by Willaim Peter Blatty.