• Hatred? Retribution? Whispered on your lips gives the illusion of my saving Grace by you.

    Retribution, subtle hatred, against all trespassers, for the sins committed against the pure dove with roaming eyes; but it never stood a chance, not without my shallow embrace.

    But to whom was I calling when I raised up my arms to the light that wrapped round me, even when I was already blinded by darkness?

    Both lay with the stains of the human cloth, but beautiful in their blemish and perfect in their meaning, wiped across the pure face by the hand that grasps towards me.
    ….Grace only comes to those that beg.
    Consuming, just as it is smiling, towards the sun that I stand before, yet around or through me, I can not tell. But I will hold the door open and be your guide through the path I’ve laid with my hands.
    And your own hands
    Thread by thread, inch by inch, it is woven – bit by bit, with shining cloth, it is created. And I, smiling knowingly, give it generously to you, so that you may uncover your- a d se



    I tilt my head towards the opaque window with the crack in the side, exposing
    The garden that I dug with my sobbing eyes, and I wonder now
    Whose name was a screaming, wordlessly, into the night?