Mikey's Poetry Book, Ch. 23
"Through the Holes in Your Hands"
Etched within me
upon each corner of my soul
the image of the one who creates
that of which is seen
and unseen.
Lying awake at night
as I rest
reading in between the fibers
of every feeling felt
and the brittle work
of a feeble and broken
blessed imagination.
Capturing what works against me from within
to let sing the honest song
that begs for the light.
Remember you who writhed
in chaos?
Sinking your face
into darkness that slithered around
every corner
you gave chase
thinking you’ll rewrite the origin
of the snake
not realizing the body
wrapped tight around your throat
getting tighter with each
temporal frivolity.
You make your hands bleed
with a calloused grip on the accuser’s ankles
neglecting the blood atop the hill of Golgotha.
Yet now,
the looks on the faces of saints
tell you of a different character
who’s song bellows forth
escaping a wicked bargain.
I drink from your rivers of crimson
and leave my broken bones at the altar.
I am sacrificed
with joy and pleasure
knowing my flesh is spared
no recompense
yet my spirit will reap
from the former.
Knit together this new creation
this one has become a cold winter
one with no shelter
or promise fulfilled.
It is a lonely chasm
that screams at me
with each passing day
I am further sickened
by what it has to say.
Wearing a counterfeit veil of light
insulting you
speaking over me falsities
of good and evil
that contradict
what you set in stone
and the life you gave.
May I remain apart from them all
as you draw me near to those you’ve meant for me
and I for them
as the Kingdom remains
the absolute first of all
of which is given chase.
Break this body
to your image
if the limb must be severed
let it be done away with
so long as I can take on your reflection
to show to the world
I so desperately
await to see on every knee.
Christus Rex.