A searchable, downloadable PDF of the original poem appears below. Kathleen Larmour is a member of the Presbyterian church, living in Toronto.
At 33, I am broken
So wearied by my flesh
That imagined vitality
Cannot raise its head
From within a cluttered mind.
Now sinking further
By knowledge that once I was
Strong, now gone, I feel
Wasted beyond my years.
So pressed in by timespan
My bones ache with a crushing
Weight, buried deep inside.
I wonder that flesh was noble
As I despair its covering.
Too weak to grasp where I am at
I kneel only with words, emptied.
Too worn to reach out, I wait for
Touching by others to hold my body
Earthbound.
Only a weak voice can cry out
My God, My God.
Separated within my body
Numbed to fever pitch and
Groaning — I feel one gasp
Of pain — forsaken.
Alone. Ensnared in this wiry cage
Humanity.
How will I continue the cross of life?
One foot barely puts itself forward.
Again to walk? Again to carry work?
I am so buckled that sleep cannot
Remedy tired infinity
Groping endlessly on.
Symbols, acts, repeat endlessly
Jumping on end, disconnected
Furtive mind — what chance do you give?
If I sleep they are gone
If I participate in them,
I am gone.
Over and over, roll into
Vastness, emptiness
But ah, there are your arms.