I have seen, in the mist of reflection,
the depth of unknown possibilities.
The earth toned orbs with which I view the world
reveal a swift, patient beauty
that fears the detachment of memory and regret.
Such a sin breathes a sullied life
into this stretched and torn body;
a sin that defiles and wounds,
pushing forward pain
and allowing it to foam and cascade
out through these glossy marbles
as a waterfall over a mossy cliff.
An unkind word once bruised me,
forcing me into a deafening submission.
A wicked strike once raped me,
shaming my good name
and killing the hope that once flourished within;
a bold, full flower now wilted and corrupt.
With such sad anguish,
life has become a mere stain,
a blot of existence moving
neither forward nor back.
Time continues to erode the physical
but the mind remains untouched,
unfiltered by youthful experience
and the mercy of forgiveness.
This limbo claims my withered spirit
and makes me prisoner
in her damp cell of uncertainty.
To be a soldier and escape internal war
would make a ravished soul
worthy of redemption.
But with no weapons to fight
and no armor to soften the blow,
how can these eyes survive
the fury of sin?
December 11, 2011
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