palms

my love,
yesterday my voice was silenced
by those who were attracted by my song
whose adorations accompanied me
down streets of betrayal
into the welcoming gates of pain

they sang how much they loved me
and lavished me with praise
but it was merely ruse
to get me deep into the city to destroy me

and those who would protect this lamb
turned heads away in shame
too fearful to defend
within authority’s thick walls

all power relinquished
into the hands of one, sanctioned
by oppressive throngs of culture
which taunted my inferiority

innocence roped and slaughtered
i now bear the scars upon my wrists
of one who was once dressed and whipped,
crucified in love’s name

but oh my Lord,
how my tomb echoes
with the emptiness of death
and there will be no resurrection
no Love reborn within this painful womb

for i have learned that love is merely this
waiting for the whips
waiting for the broken bleeding
waiting for the slaughter to arrive

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: very early healing pieces « Emmaatlast’s Weblog

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M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

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