Death

Lord, rinse clean my eyes, I
need healing.
Christ, feel the wound on my side, I
fear I am still bleeding

Why do my hands still tremble, wake the
sleep of old wounds? Why
in the mystery of dark hearts do I
resurrect death, with its
fingers laced in black deceit?

O, were I to be freed from the
shackles of the dragon's teeth and
his graveyard of a million crooked
fiends extending their gnarled
arms toward me——would I find
peace then or be tormented with a
freedom much too free?

Soul, it is not enough to be free.

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