Arianna Sikorski

It was rest we were made for

                  rest we were claimed for

                  rest so that you might adore     us.

 

But now we are only a great adrenaline rush.

 

Blinded and lost from our own creation

                  categorized us as                     “work”

                  not our true formation.

 

Taken as beauty in the eye of the beholder

                  not peace                                not presence

                  lain across your shoulder.

 

So we toil and struggle for attention.

 

Stripping ourselves to adapt

                  as another appealing                 sport

                  finding our house now built

                  with the hollow walls of a court.

 

Juried to distribute space                            not time

                  memories implanted on

                  the child’s face our crime.

 

And sanctity has faded to experience

                  a trade for freedom

                  using the currency of our own    lenience.

 

Not realizing the trade was a sale for slavery

                  the master                               our raw and torn hearts

                  the slave                                  to be rest

                  only broken and sold in parts.

 

Pieces retrieved of what we once were

                  identity reestablished

                  to define us as                         "work."

 

And we no longer know the courage of peace

                  the ever lain                             fulfillment

                  that you will not leave.

 

To find our bodies seasoned for an atmosphere of rest

                  that calls you to us

                  an oasis for strength                 not a test.

 

FOR WE ARE A GIFT.

 

Made to arouse senses silenced in man

                  humming the heart                   melodies

                  of your toiling hands.

 

Do not throw us to the dragons of anonymity

                  discarding anything

                  that was a lasting                     beauty.

 

For rest       is our lost identity

                  and the new gift of woman?

                  Your stoned heart and taxed     integrity.

 

Forgive our pride, our seeking souls

                  for we only desire our own self

                  a lost Sabbath to the week’s     famished goals.

 

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©2012 Arianna Sikorski All Rights Reserved