Liv

Water runs softly, there's a need for grace, to bathe my swollen feet, restrained in my moans, I settle for this place, heart against bone, in these gardens of gethsemane, blown here by the rain, ring of bells within me, alone at this grotto, are my words to say, how can we atone, for want of testimony, offered me this day, their silver derisory, stupid faces look on, brown thorns and useless games, a life not my own, I want to receive, to throw away the cross, all that’s held for me, sunshine on my face.