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thirtyPoems
You stripped me down to just my skin; looked at me, and behold! You were unfettered. You held me still as I resisted; childish, leary of the water. Not because of my sugar molecule DNA, but rather, the lack thereof. See, I feared that the water, so often uplifting, would reveal my ugly tricks. See, I feared it'd seep right through, flow between a clavicle, a cranium, some ribs. But persistently you did lather with the patience of a saint; washed the chunks, the stench, the filfth and fear quickly down a rusted drain. When the fight in me did subside, I'd catch you out of slits to glassy eyes: solemnly faceded, but in bright pupils I did see, how you'd fallen for a sin like me. Oh, and it hit me. The nothingness that somehow held. And I wailed. And I cried. And I bawled until my eyes bled. And I thought of mother. And of father. And of baby sister, and of Craig. But none of my injustices Surmounted to you, and your need to make clean. And so you scrubbed with a fever, to cleanse my every spot. You are my Savior, my King, my God, and I love you for every spot you worked so hard to make perfect, For our family name, I love you, even if I seem to not feel as claimed.
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Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Saint Christoph
You stripped me down to just my skin; looked at me, and behold! You were unfettered. You held me still as I resisted; childish, leary of the water. Not because of my sugar molecule DNA, but rather, the lack thereof. See, I feared that the water, so often uplifting, would reveal my ugly tricks. See, I feared it'd seep right through, flow between a clavicle, a cranium, some ribs. But persistently you did lather with the patience of a saint; washed the chunks, the stench, the filfth and fear quickly down a rusted drain. When the fight in me did subside, I'd catch you out of slits to glassy eyes: solemnly faceded, but in bright pupils I did see, how you'd fallen for a sin like me. Oh, and it hit me. The nothingness that somehow held. And I wailed. And I cried. And I bawled until my eyes bled. And I thought of mother. And of father. And of baby sister, and of Craig. But none of my injustices Surmounted to you, and your need to make clean. And so you scrubbed with a fever, to cleanse my every spot. You are my Savior, my King, my God, and I love you for every spot you worked so hard to make perfect, For our family name, I love you, even if I seem to not feel as claimed.
As close as I will probably ever come to a love poem.
#love#god#one#king#healing#savior#unity#nothingness#cleanse#saint
Written by
thirty
30/F
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
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