I have been another nail in the coffin
While the hammer-strokes still ring from long ago
I will carry this rough-hewn cross
And try to ignore the splinters
That prick with every step
A martyr of spirit hurts more
Than a martyr of flesh
What love was meant to lift up
Love has torn apart
But every stone was deserved
No more deserving am I
Of further affection and sacrifice
Than the cat who wore down the sparrow
From a high and lofty place
There were heavy, mighty blows
A hammer was mine
A hammer was theirs
The true damage only God knows
A candy-covered, tissue-paper flower
That holds a mighty sting
A poison thorn of self-deception
Ensnaring any who draw too near
Like the wounded banshee who calls for help
Yet destroys any who respond
Needing a savior as deeply as any
But dragging any compassionate friends down
A keepsake grave
A box to crawl back into
When shame or hurt strikes
And I, possessing the only faulty key
When ages pass into foggy memory
We see our faces are the same
As countless children gone before
Needy, but fallen from grace
Who will, at the last, remember these
Those who had fought and died
Amongst themselves
For want of a secure father?
I have an abstract heart
That was beaten into a deformed shape
Lost underground in the box it sleeps
Needing what it can never have
A child despising its youth
Despising innocense that has long spoiled
What the adult has killed
The child has left behind
What little remains is forever broken
A blanket of blue has covered the top of the sky
Light only peeks through from reflected sun
The heavens are hidden
What more reason is there to look up?
Still there is a beauty in the storm
In its passion and ferocity
In its midnight blues and silver jags
In its desperation to expend all energy
Spill out its full poisonous potency in such a short time
To this, I can relate
The storm makes the air lighter
Takes away its oppressive weight
Fully reveals what it had flashed before in momentary glimpses
Turns the sinister into softness
And so I pray that the storm will pass
Will leave redemption in its wake
Will turn the sinister light of fear into willingness
A pliable soul that You can shape
Rather than a granite block of obstinate shame
