Okay, I'm gathering my courage for another poetry post. This one was written last year sometime, for someone specific.
Gospel
His scars map
an uneasy life;
one child among many.
His cries,
lost in the cacophony
of those that came before,
trace his journey
to the other side.
A tightrope ahead,
death behind;
the courage to go on
in the depths of his eyes.
The scars a mute testimony.
The ink is a litany.
Down his arms, on his hands;
his lonely story
a gospel of pain.
Endured, lived and overcome
by those who walked
the razor with him
and lived;
however broken.
Each mark is scripture.
I read the verses by touch and
I pray for redemption;
as he cries in my arms.
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Amanda Gulledge
Gianna-FL
SnippytheGrammarDog
Kerry Lauerman
Amy A
scanner
Salon.com
Comments
Keep writing.