Dead Man's Blood
Dead man's blood,
that rose again.
My salvation
to this life I've lived.
No one sees my heart,
true and whole,
see the blood on my hands,
this knowledge I know.
Without this faith
I would just die over and over again,
drowning in a pool
of these unholy sins.
It is dead man's blood,
that rose again,
that pours over me,
and cleanses these hands.
No one sees my scars,
self-inflicted by my soul,
cutting my skin,
burning me whole.
And with out this faith
these scars would never heal,
blood would continually run
down this vessel I am in.
It is a dead man's blood,
that rose again,
that searches in my soul
and makes me whole again.
This dead man weeps,
walks by my side,
reminds me every day,
that he is truly alive.
He holds me tight in the dark,
shines the holiest of lights,
keeps me warm in winter,
and covers me in the darkest night.
It is a dead man's blood,
that miraculously rose again,
that has proven to me,
that he is the true Prince.
Copyright © Louise Picek | Year Posted 2006
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment