A little girl in a black silk dress
Knocked on the red brick wall
“Can you hear me, Mr. Jesus?”
she asked, and felt so small.
“I’m sorry for the bad I did,
So sorry I didn’t call,
I feel like such a little kid,
‘Cause all I did was fall.
I wish you could mean more to me,
But you seem so far away;
I’m hurt more than I’ll ever be,
Are you here to save the day?
Why did you give him back to me,
If all he is, is bad?
Why did he ever come at all,
Why was the love we had?
Daddy seems to know You well,
More than I ever will;
If Scarecrow’s wrong, as Daddy tells,
Why do I love him still?
It seems You gave me all the signs,
Each one I ever asked;
Why are our hearts so tight entwined,
If it can never last?
Are those signs from darker days,
From shadows I can’t see?
Is it because I’ve bent my ways,
Are demons chasing me?
You said the wicked ask for signs,
So is that also me?
Are these signals dark designs,
Should I just turn and flee?
Or maybe, maybe, dare I wish,
That you have really planned
For me to give him my last kiss
That lifeless scarecrow man?
Maybe he's more than he seems,
More than meets my daddy's eye;
Maybe he holds all of my best dreams,
Maybe he will save my life."
"I wish you'd tell me," the little girl said,
As she stood beside the wall;
"Are all these signs just in my head?
Do I misinterpret all?
I don't want to make a big mistake,
I don't want to screw my life;
There is a choice I have to make,
Can I make it without strife?
I can't stay here, that much I know,
It hurts me to admit;
But Lord, I don't know where to go,
Now what do You see fit?"
The little girl in the black silk dress
Fell silent just to wait,
What Jesus said she couldn't guess,
And the time was getting late.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Confusion
PoesíaDiana Miller is schizophrenic...or at least she thinks so. She has never been clinically diagnosed because her father believes that mental illness is demon possession, and she knows he would never take her to a psychiatrist. To cope with her inner c...
