Mercer's Poems
I’m OK

Despite the sunken slumping shoulders
beaten by weighted misfortunes.
Despite the glacier crushing of my heart
and the ice crystals pumped around me
shredding my veins with cold, cold blood.
I tell myself, 
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

Despite the empty sobbing from within,
and deflated lungs bellowing soft whimper
after whimper. Regardless of the feeling
of being the only man with no soul. 
I tell myself. 
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

Oh how I miss the heady, fresh morning scent.
That fragrant aroma around the home 
That is the breath of God into the nostrils
that truly gives man life and makes him think
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

That slender, graceful, warming hand
that caresses his face so gentle, yet firm
that warms his icy quartzite heart
and brings true meaning to the words
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

And wherefore is that soundless song, 
the tune that plays when naught exists
but two cherubim dancing naked, smiling. 
And both feel sheltered, safe to say
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

Without it just a ghoul, I feel. 
A poltergeist, heard but never seen. 
A woeful, sorry, horrid dream
that wakes you, sweating, as you scream
I’m ok. I’m ok. 

Why when the sky around you falls
does pride rear its ugly head 
to pull back your arms as you reach out
you’re tear-soaked hand, and make you say
“I’m ok. I’m ok”?  

The smallest, yet the greatest lie. 
I’m ok. I’m ok.