Blood Bath
Finally my blood began to coagulate
a graceful gel, gently thickened,
so – whatever I might feel, the settling of the wound,
has begun…
in sensitive silences, the shadows echo the fear,
felt by a heart who knows the starkness, the darkness,
will never drive out the hurt, despite the silhouettes, tempting,
timid whispers of what it means to mend the broken,
the ones chained by despair, melancholic and ashamed,
because, there is nothing more humiliating than pain,
anguish that I can’t face, that my memories won’t embrace,
that is such a dark disgrace…
inky splotches of my shame stains the sleeves, the garment
ridiculously lost in its reproach, the dishonor
laying bare on the afternoon, as summer streams in whiffs
of a storm happening, so close by…
desperate to cover the gash,
hesitant and doubting that is might last,
I offend with a prayer suspended, amid wind and clouds,
rain drenching all efforts in healing,
in the distance, appealing to my mind,
lessons in reconciling injury and the protests
of a life who never sees beyond its grief,
through the tribulations, the sins, the intensity
driving away situations that feed
silence to the richest colors of a fever,
tempers black and lush, like the bleakest night,
who tempts the plasma from its abyss,
where sorrow pours forth, from the mindless
decades of fatherless hurt,…
blue-black dread prepares the ocean’s glass,
reflecting a soul’s indignity,
selfless cries, aching to be mourned,
like the dead leaves who rustle like the rushing winds,
silent yet deafening with the crackling gales,
laughing in the seas of yesterday,
flowing over each victory, a tenderness, dispersing
hope, happiness, cures for lacerations,
bleeding focus into the blurriness of a heart
who can’t see the forest for the trees,
the joy mounting when we’re down on our knees…
it’s forever, this place between bloody torment,
and a peace that brings grace, grace
that stays, like the music in a heart who hears,
beyond the song – into the wonder of each note,
played by artists who can see past blood bought,
into the source of all hope,…
as the music plunges a soul under the blood
one moment before the darkness rises,
touching summer with the haunting of a diabolic doubt,
as the music plays on… His blood remembers…
to wash away the clouds and shine on, a light of love…
shining so the darkest dread can’t possibly end,
the wonderful tune, the healing that comes from letting Jesus in –
where we’re forever free from sin, where we’ll always be with Him!
Unlike my Savior, my blood congeals,
Allowing me to savor more of this life…
While His blood heals all form of strife,
With only a drop, it cleanses the soul…
Bringing hope that I’ll someday know,
The beautiful of being a child of the King!
Copyright ©
Regina Mcintosh
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