Saturday, July 4, 2015

Slicing through

Slicing through

There's a sword vertical in the body,
its thin sharpness stiff and true,

the hilt in the boot, tip below the throat,
still able to breathe and swallow,

the chest a keen, curved blade
slicing through, not quite pleasurable,

not quite pain, something like fire
but so thin - exhaution,

the edge of energy, a steeling presence,
a whetted wisdom below the head,

too sleek to be held back
if only one could bear the wielding

which does not allow for sleep nor rest,
only to get buried

somewhere in the plowed earth,
the soft tissue, the unbroken, vast sea

of whatever this is where we are
slicing through to whatever is beyond.

O child of God, bring forth the blade
by calling His name and never holding back.

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