On a wickedly splendid day we sang,
To higher powers within,
As the Sun rose through,
The Dark that day;
A fear within me sprang.
I went right home,
And fervently prayed,
For the fear in my heart; to remove,
And the beast on my shoulders; to slay.
Pages from the Holy Scriptures,
I tore and plastered to my walls,
And, the Red of Forgiveness, I showered in, tall.
Yes, the Heart…my heart, was but paraphernalia.
My fingers are now tired,
From clenching my fists,
My eyes, have no more tears to cry.
My mouth; no words to speak.
I roll on to my side and hold my breath,
As if air, or its lack thereof, would cleanse my soul.
I haemorrhage from the thought of thinking,
I haemorrhage, willingly and all the way through.
I haemorrhage, cleansing my past, present, and what may come.
Into a vessel, from which He may drink,
When He denies me access past the gates He’s built.
I bare my heart,
I sheath my sword.
I lay down- Give in
Leave me but the clothes in which I came here, Innocence and Love.
And maybe joy.