...for this reason, to keep me from exalting myself, there was given me a thorn in the flesh...
(2 Corinthians 12:7)
(06-09-08: Edited slightly)
A thorn against pale skin
The thorn-my woe, my sin
Pricks. My blood red seeping-
Leaving me within It’s keeping.
I’m held to devices
Of the thorn; my vices
Pale, haggard hands grope
Finger tips grasp the rope.
A gasp! Bitter lightning pain,
Fingers fall; the thorn has won-
Again.
The Writer
- to touch the stars
- Inwardly I'm a poet dressed in white sitting on the crescent moon tracing constellations with my fingertips, sitting by a dear silent minstrel. Outwardly I'm just a girl with dark eyes.
Love is the Movement
3 comments:
I know I told you what I thought already, but I thought I'd leave a comment telling you how much I loved it anyway.
Which, of course, I do. I can really relate to the poem, and the imagery you wove into it is marvelous.
- Ian
Ahhh, so that's what your little biography means! The whole "thorn in her side" bit, I kept racking my brain trying to figure out what you were saying. Now I know. ^_^ Plus, it's beautiful. It's nice when deep poems have rhyme to them.
I.
Am.
Speechless.
Thank you for touching my heart.
Again.
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