In the front of the wooden pews, she shot
our souls clean through. Whose eyelids
swam with tears, reflected ebony.
Her soul,
see-through, a shade.
Hilltop injustice
she remembered for all of us,
what all of us had, have, done. It was
welling up inside her. Clawing out.
We were drowned in it, in the waves,
rocked in them, lost. I prayed, prayed
oh, to stay swathed
in spirit and so sure, steeped in
existence of Love that we did not feel
our skin, or need it anymore.
We grew roots, we grew wrinkles,
we rose and we died.
No comments:
Post a Comment