Scars, wounds, and brokennessIn the twilight times
you approach me as if a friend
and you do not say
In the twilight times
you look at me with something like sadness
and you point to this and this and this
“These are your wounds.”
And your fingers dig deeper
You find the scars on the scars on the scars
Your beautiful eyebrow arches in wonder
at how deeply the dead of me goes.
You manage to say some things with out saying them
That, after all, is your gift
You manage to leave the implication hanging in the dead air between us
That is all that there is all the way down
That is all that there is of me,
scars, wounds, and brokeness:
That is all that there is of me.
But then how could I hurt?
I see you
I know you
I fear you
I rebuke you.
You are not some commentator,
You are not here because you care for me.
You are the one who wounded me
across the years, across those years.
And then you stroll here and now
and you act surprised at your own handiwork.
I see you, I know you
I rebuke you
In the name of the one Greater than me.
He will not come and point at my wounds
He has felt those fingers digging in his side
He will not come up by my side
Because He is here already.
these wounds will form a cocoon
and they will put me in the ground.
He will split open what I was
off with Him.