Let me offer apology
if I can push the word
from the roof of my mouth-
sorry. I’m weak, needy.
I want someone to hold my body.
Let myself go limp into the flesh
of this truth: You are not just holy.
You are holy, holy, holy.
The murder of Your nailed body,
coming up to the right hand
of the Father, back down, proves so.
Fill this house with outstretched arms, so I may fall into eternal rest.
I’m a grief observed, heart cries
silently aching for Your smile
touching my bitter soul.
My hunter, please come
by my side. See me,
hidden amongst green shrubbery,
pricked by the arrows of self-hatred
guilt, and self-pity.
You are the Prince of Peace, I,
the idiot, awaiting for Your aroma
to overwhelm my wilting in this sweltering heat.
Past ghosts whisper:
why would anyone read
a single poem you write.
Apologize for finding yourself.
Oh, look at the time-taking days
this is wasting. Why even try
achieving your dreams?
I should be glad, rejoicing
these troubles will not last.
You are with me every stumble
of the climb in letting go.
Before I slip away, shamefully,
hear the call from my frail voice-
My Friend, show me thy