Dirty Hands
Your dirty hands upon me.
I tremble at the thought.
Begging let my spirit free.
The mad militia I have fought.
Love still binds my heart to you,
despite the freely dripping blood.
Your presence on a raging coup,
leaching my shell changing blue.
Ripping the loaded gun so cold
from your hot and beating hand.
You tackle me to the floor I fold.
Tis a miracle I land.
I am one and one with God.
Through him the hand we have declawed.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
