The Seismic Shock

The Seismic Shock
January 31, 2012.
Just after midnight.
(The devil loves the dark.)
The jolt was nor recorded
on any earth-bound
earthquake
monitoring device.
But it registered at close to a ten
or more
on my own personal ricter scale.

Pornography.
Such a fancy-shmancy word
for dispicable deeds.
Porn.
Much more appropriate a word.
A four-letter word
of the dirty deed type.

He was watching.
Moving porn.
He says he cannot remember what.
"2 people having sex.
Porn.
It's all the same."
He won't say more.
He says he dozed off
in the middle.
And that is suppose to be comforting?
I know he won't say
because he's hiding
to protect himself.
That's what he does.
"Gay porn," the whispers speak to my mind.
And I cannot conot compete.
Not that I could with any sort,
anyway.

The seismic shock that hit,
when I saw what he was trying to
 hide,
knocked down every part of me...
...but one.
My FAITH stands
still.
Other faceades
only a few walls
still sway
in after-shocks that hit
nearly every day.

There is no part of me
left steady standing;
But the construct of FAITH.
Strong and firm, steady and still
             stands apart.

Upon closer inspection...
deeper pondering
I realize...
I come to understand.

This man should never have had the
                     POWER
to destroy me in far under an
hour.

I gave it him.
I trusted in the arm of the flesh.
I built most of me
on our marriage.

My FAITH, though,
built by inhuman hands,
supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff:
sunk deep into THE ROCK.

And so I see.
I need to rebuild me
with supports and joists and all that important build-y stuff
sunk deep in The Rock.

I thought I had,
honestly.
For, you see,
this is not my first
earthquake.

But apparently,
I did not sink deep enough
or connect profoundly enough
to The Rock
to be swayed, but not broken
by a seismic shock
of mega-proportions.

And the whispers urge me
to build more carefully.
I certainly intend to!
But just right now...
I'm just trying, right now...
to clean up the mess
of me
in my little nothing world.

For what he, my hubby,
and you
can't see
is the crumbled structures.
The shattered glass.
The brokeness
inside me.

He fusses, "Don't you see me trying?"
And I feel to hang my head
and whisper, "Just like every time
you do wrong... but it doesn't stick.
You don't KEEP trying."
But he wouldn't hear,
because he wouldn't want to hear.
Just like me.

You see...
we are one.

His deed now...
was my deed long ago.
He didn't care.
Wouldn't have cared.
But I still did wrong.
So now it's come back to me
in the most painful way possible
thus far.

And I wish
I had always been
a different me.
For then,
the one we are
would be different,
too.


POST-Post Note
I meant to share this immediately after the Shame post, but forgot.  Sorry.  I hope you appreciated it somehow.