Thursday, February 13, 2014

Monsters and Men

I covered me with you.
I hid in your bright places
            your funny spaces
            your anxiety cubicles
            your opinion pools.
I ran with you
   yet I was paused inside.
I didn’t churn
   nor speak, nor shift
      nor keep my insides fully in.
They seeped, they crept,
            they pushed themselves in
a corner in the hollow of my heart.
I trashed the treasure inside
  for pauper parts.
And though I was poor
   I sprinkled what food I had on the floor.
And the me that was me
            was now a monster, so it seemed.
I am not a monster,
            I whispered, but your fears and mine
   slipped like ghostly fingers into
                        our ears
and shouted otherwise.
And I was left
knees boring into the hard cold floor of truth.
At least truth was what it seemed.
And the monster dragged me
  like the dead and showed me off
as dark victory would have it.

I am not covered.

But you are.

And I was naked.

And you were clothed.

And I was hungry.

And you were satisfied.

And my eyes stung with
    sadness, with hatred
  with the smell of rotten flesh
  where my heels had burned
from my monster dragging me.
I had not love.
And I stared into the Son
            and I could not see love.
I said, Leave me. Leave me here to die. For
            my insides to cease, for my soul to
I pushed the seeds into the ground
            believing that they could not grow.
  Yet someone came and watered them
And the sprout spurt pain across the dirt
         to make its stand in the world
   that could swallow it whole.
  But it did not swallow
  but the world wallowed at
        a plant that dared face the vastness
     of earth.
  And the seeds were me, truly.
And I could not water except with
       salted drips from my weeping eyes.
But the purest of pure water
flowed over me like, crisp, clean breath
And said, Live.
     And I Lived. Sometimes I
scratch at the dirt.
Sometimes I stay low for fear
    that anxious men and crippling monsters
will rip me out.

But He said, See me here.
   And this time I looked into
          the Son and I saw
I reached for the nail.
It looked painful.
   And he curled his fingers over
      mine and He said, No.
    That nail, that monster, is mine.
   And he said, Look down at your
            And I looked.
It was the cross engraven on my palms.
   He said, Put your hands before you,
And I did.
  And Love stood before me.
     And the fearful men,
     The monster, driven into me,


like rain out of the clouds. 


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