Imploding

How long will I be lost in limbo?

How long before I see the sky?

How long will these strong hurricane winds blow

before this bird learns how to fly?

How long will I spin like soaking wet clothes

in a wash machine, tumbling this way and that?

Bashing into walls, through highs and lows,

splashing and shaking like a water-drenched cat.

How long will I be floating out of place?

Sinking away with every breath,

imploding like a star in the void of space

becoming a black hole, shrinking death.

When will I find a hand to hold,

something to grab onto to bring me back?

And when my story’s done and told,

will there be smiles or tears when it fades to black?