what arrogance it takes
to flay a human soul
digging for detritus -
to worry it out of secure scars
and make wounds new again.
who can take a life in her hands
and believe that she
can improve it by her interference?
we are fumbling children
with clumsy fingers
and poor understanding.
even so, I prod -
I poke -
I cut.
and I fail -
will fail -
have failed staggeringly
blood stains my heart
if not my hands
and each day I rise
to take up the knife again
for you.
for who else will stand to face the dark
and fight with you
against the night?
and who else will stand
when you have fallen
and shield you with a blade?
for in the end
darkness will shroud you
and many fear the shade.
Author notes
I'm not sure what my thoughts are on this.. know what I'm trying to say, but not how to say it. ideas appreciated..
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