Just realized comments turned off…. now on….
Today I listened to a YouTube video and it reminded me of my poem (Thank you Susi.)
This is a poem I wrote about 6years ago. Repost from a blog posted back on 4/18/ 2018.
I now have the tag #ReligiousTraumaSyndrome or #RTS.
“When we are not sure, we are alive.”
Sitting in church gazing through the window
The sun beckons me to leave.
The preacher rages on.
I believed. I was trained. I was sure. I was dead.
The preacher’s sermons sound like a drum beating in my head:
Only whores dance, rock and roll is for drug addicts.
Thou shalt not have fun. The sun hid behind the clouds.
I was naive. I was trapped. I was scared. I was dead.
Out in the brazen sun, I tested the waters.
A small transistor, hidden under my pillow,
Melodies, lyrics of wanton acts spoke to me
I was listening. I was tempted. I was not sure. Was I dead?
I followed the path illumined by sunrays and jumped into the pool.
There was no life preserver, I struggled against the waves.
My head came above the surface. I heard cheers and jeers.
I was escaping. I was scared. I was rebellious. I was not dead.
I met a girl who danced and loved rock and roll.
She was neither a whore nor an addict.
She enjoyed the full sun. She was not trapped.
I believed. I was free. I struggled. I was alive.
by Ruth 1/28/2013