Blood
there is blood on my hands;
and they won't come clean
alone and weary I'm just so tired
of nobody knowing what I mean
I kneel down
Look into the eyes of Death
As it so simply lays there still
Within a sanguine puddle upon the ground.
Something here is not right
indeed all is quite wrong
This dark day has lingered on
Far too long.
When death's deed
Was done
The moon out shone
The sinking sun,
While blood dripped from the bullets
Outside of the gun.
A human heart had withdrawn
From it's beats
As the guiding angels
Quietly just took their seats
For what more could be said?
Jesus did not show this time,
To raise the dead.
Mary and Martha
Won't stop their crying,
Long after the paramedics
Stop their trying.
My mind won't believe
My eyes refuse to see
The senseless finality
Of this lowly evil deed.
The divine image bearer
Still as stone
Is left to lay there
Dead, upon the cold hard ground.
I walk lonely
In the night's weeping rain,
Wondering if any words can hold me together
and quiet the endless pain
Or, will it all come apart
With the great weight of this
One more broken and falling feather.
[...] Read more
poem by Smoky Hoss
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