All Roses

stumbled roses kin
to crushing madness
petals to skin in rushing sadness
sorrow leaking out
from corners meeting corners
thumbs pricked on thorns

we are what we scorn and
we are what we hate

deliberate grieving
in windows, folded souls
like molded bowls
of shattered clay- we are
fear on scrit and stones

our homes as ashes burnt in dust
the rust from petals breaking palms
the alms of madness, the greeting smile
the widowed wanting, the waiting mile

the fervent tearing of reflection
infection washing bloodied hands
we are these lands, these broken gates
these broken fates and hungry souls
these holes too deep to find their fill
the still of morning and deadly flash
of sun across a foreign sky
who am I inside these scalded flowers
showers of such deadly arms
that blacken farms and shatter homes

what I destroy is what I become
what I become is what I will bear
I will bear my neighbors trough
his bow across my bended back
taking back his sorrowed past
free at last, almighty God-

shuddered to see me staring thus
into my blackened face- unjust
and petals crushed like ruined faith
who in faith had stolen mine
had stolen fate like bruising time
I wait for him to quiver right
the just upon my heart- my part
in speaking lame or too quietly
he stares back at me- defiantly
but makes no move
no stirring up our yesterdays
reminding of the debts to pay
or crushing me in single blows
he knows, I think, the face of God
he sees it there in me
and I, in all my poverty could not see
the grace of ALL humanity

reflecting back, it seems,
into the deepest part of me

(the part that only God can see)