Forlorn

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As much as I would like to provide some context for understanding the this poem, I will refrain from doing so for now. After my first book is published (hopefully later this year), I plan on writing a memoir of faith that will be drawn from my personal spiritual journey. If you care enough to know what these words represent, you'll find more explanation there.   

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Twenty years.
That's how long I gave to you.
I never asked for anything in return either,
       though perhaps I should have.
And what did you give me?
Disappointed hopes and unfulfilled dreams. 

Maybe I shouldn't blame you; 
       they were my choices, after all.
And to be fair, there were other things, too. 
But I don't know.
It's just that after all this time and everything we've been through,
       it would be nice to know you cared.

It doesn't feel that way, though.
Do you even see me standing here with one foot out the door?
I mean, I get it,  
       I never really was the life of your party.
But still, I thought I at least meant something.
To someone.  

Alright, then.
Twenty years is a long time, you know.
       I didn't expect it to go this way.
But here we are. Here I am. 
What was it your Reformer said? Oh yes, I remember. 
I will borrow his words for my parting farewell. 

"To go against conscience is neither right nor safe. 
Here I stand. 
I can do no other. 
So help me, God." ​

And that is that. 

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