hands

I saw you sleeping
by the old oak tree
whose persimmon leaves sifted
gently through the breeze
And I watched you
grow
blossom radiant hues
and when the darkness fell
your colors glowed
You were a nebula
dancing in the dark, deep blues
Gentle bud, I watched you
unfold
But my eyes grew wings
and my heart a thorn
Still I loved you, I
could have sworn
but my fingertips dug deep
and I painted purple and
blood on you
and in my blindness
I watched your wounds flow

Oh Father, how could I
never have known?
Rage is blindness and
I had plucked mine own eyes
until you healed them in grace
Touch too my hands; align them
fingertips to Yours
destruction is the devil's work and
my hands an open book
for You to write Your story or
for him to tear and pull

When Father lifted
my eyes to see
words were not the
only casualty
My thoughts grew arms,
gnarled fingers reaching
and around her face they grew
mangled, screeching
Dark blues painted on
fragile eyelids
my hatred grew claws and
cut deeply

Father, raise me up and
Straighten out my spine


photo