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Haunted footsteps down dark streets
meter the Psalm ever on lips
that never mourn, only quiver with the weight
of mind straining to withstand siege of spirits
finally driven off by crisp air, silent night
your spirit stilled by a shepherd’s song
’til later night. Crying muffled by papered walls
carpet swallows agonized plea
“Lord Jesus Christ Son of God have mercy on me a sinner.”
(I roll over, try to sleep, forget that you are dying)
while you fight on, struggle to regain
mind fractured by mental disease
finally gives in to prayer, lets you sleep
it seemed. Five a.m. footsteps on kitchen lino
even day looks more like night
break off your morning ration, only crumbs
(the daily bread of anguished conscience) – thud
legs betray your will – ”Get up, man.”
Shake it off, stumble out the door
haunted footsteps down dark streets.
This poem was written by Jonathan Goossen reflecting on his brother Josh’s battle with schizophrenia. He lives in Saskatoon with his wife Cindy and their sons Jacob and Luke Joshua.
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