i’ve begun
to wonder
if hate
does not
permanently
dye
the soul
the color
of
dried blood
our
words
of forgiveness
to those
who’ve
wronged
us
are
but
pilate washing
his hands
all the while
a thin veil
of flesh
conceals
what lies
within
a darkness
that
spews
from our lips
gaseous words
of venom
when
passing
troubadours
wishing
only
to write
songs
of enlightenment
press
too tightly
upon
the fragile flesh
of
our
beliefs
and
fears
thus revealing
that
inert
element
hidden
in our souls
© 2017, Charles W. Martin
The image and poem fit well together, although I found both disturbing. I enjoyed pondering your words and listening to you read them. I always like that you include the soundbite of your reading – it helps clarify intent, sometimes, to hear the author’s emphasis on certain words. Thanks for sharing with us this month. 🙂
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