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Sqmewhere in the Space Between |
33 is the branding blindness
laced across your closing eyes
when the truth becomes
too hot to touch.
Don’t you dare worry
about being saved
because karma will still
burn us all in the end.
Every breath inhaled
was a righteous hallelujah
but that doesn’t mean
the prayer could reach holy center.
Every word wept or laughed
was an allusion screaming heaven;
searching through the night
with a tongue that aches for God.
99 is the jump point of grace
dancing across a broken bridge
where shadows fail
to snuff the dawning light.
Lay down your sword
and take off your mask
as all of the sixes
are buried below us.
Every wound suffered
was a test from evolution
like sewing up flesh
when the blood tastes of sin.
Every touch of skin
was electric in the moment;
singing toward the sun
to entrust your letters with the light.
copyright 2017
Scott Thomas
Outlar |
