#62

April 5, 2011 § Leave a comment

A bottle –
Glass, like the ones you build ships in

Sitting on my hips, stretching up into my ribs
All roads lead in
So your words, your looks, your silence
Fall like pennies through my skin

And when full
of candle wax and feathered tar
they fall from lids and slide on skin
Like polish on my surface scars

And when full
of heaven’s hymns and angel dreams
they seep out through my broken skin
cracking bones along their seams

And when full
of midnight’s empty darkness or of winter’s heavy snow
the weight pulls my eyelids towards my elbows
and sleep pulls me in his undertow

There are few
who build the ship inside
and many
who add to the ocean’s tide

But there is One who fills the spreading cracks
And protects my soul with hands on glass.

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You are currently reading #62 at Authored Angioplasty.

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