Penance

Penance

For all the painful people

wondering why god has forsaken

hanging sorrows from a silent

winter tree

entreating penance.

Still your blood does not flow

pure.

Never cleans the wounds.

Festering.  Poisoning.

How can there be clarity?

Peace

is only equated with

silence.

I can not reach you

through your pain

through my pain

through the loud, piercing

blows, the cacophony

of cause and effect,

ruined fields

seeded with glass.

Beautiful prismic spires grow here.

Someday awed children will play,

sing, tell tall tales in their splendor.

All we can see

is razorsharp teeth so tender

to bleeding flesh.