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Love, Dread, Redemption...


I want to do more than think;
but it’s not a dream, instead
it’s the holes inside her heart
where the news shatters glass
cutting pieces from the sun
asking faith to lie well still

I know you are of sad pulse;
I wish so much I could make
it wash your pain away; like
the blood of a lamb on a
door frame waiting to be
passed over

instead we must measure it
with our soft fingers, tracing
its stolid beat from our heart
to our wrist and neck until our
hands suddenly reach for our
minds before it depresses
while we hold our pillows
close to feel its cool thread

I hope, knowing how much
I drink from a cup in your
name will mingle mine with
your own; there is no debt
that you owe; there is no
fear in me, for what I will
swallow is the poison that
I thank God for allowing us
this amazing fear

Let us dream of nice simple
things; dwell on it; knowing
that someone thinks of you
as you are; a beautiful soul,
now as a child without intent
of malice; chasing butterflies
without purpose, other than
to be close to the silky edged
wings that do not shatter in
the wind or shrivel in the rain
for this is no spiritual death


Mark Lecuona (author) from Austin, Texas on January 06, 2018:

Thank you Robin... I know a couple of lady friends with major problem; one has cancer and the other a deep bought of depression because she has MS. I was thinking of them when I wrote it but it also could just be about a lover who is very sad...

Robin Carretti from Hightstown on January 06, 2018:

I love this the line that said measure it with our soft finger and etc all those words held me closer to your creative words of writing thanks

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