Friday, April 2, 2021


when I wake, the tree still stands,
the blood still drips, and open hands
catch like fallen rain and thirsty lips.

the chapel still waits for my time,
promises made, promises mine;
doors watch for death to come.

see the forest and the trees,
see my past overtake me,
sit on the frosty cold steps.

someday, I'll go inside.
see all who I've left behind,
loved, lost, and abandoned.

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