little one's cast out your blades
let your eyes weep in trade-
settle down, fold your legs beneath you
let your eyes empty
you're soul is fragile-
the flesh is sinful
I do not like my flesh
never have I harmed it
it is not mine-
but when I die
I will cry still, in a final goodbye
and I will see the skin of me
wrapped tightly round the bone of
what was me-
and I will be free-
and I rise up of it-
I will see it,
as I have mirrored it a million times
and I will say goodbye
oh, the pain-
oh, the strain-
what child can I not heal you with my love?
can I not hold your hand
and cry for you until you let it go?
can we not see it for what it really is?
a spiritual war-
piercing our core-
fighting to endure
but we all get hit sooner or later
with a blow, that dims our light
low, low- we go-
low, low to lift, we strive-
cutting our little selves
to feel alive...
weeping eyes, settle ye, your soul
sit and sip a tea- and believe me
I know we love to see a wound heal.
April 18, 2011 © Anthony James , All rights reserved