O Lord who cursed this broken soul
with crowns of iron, thorns of gold,
I wrote in blood, I bore the wine,
yet nothing in this wound was mine.
O Lord who watched the dreaming fade,
the eyes grew dim, the veins decayed.
My song once crossed the silver lake
and gathered dust beneath its wake.
Hope sang bright of kingdom come,
while building prisons in the sun.
The vows were writ to nurse a lie
and teach the hungry heart to die.
O Lord of silence ’neath my bone,
these ribs have borne the dark alone.
No heaven moved. No witness swore.
My weary hands could plead no more.
So take this flesh; it does not feed.
Take this heart; it does not bleed.
No sins were washed, no god forgave.
I buried them in hollow graves.
Featured image adapted from a photo by Wyatt N
See more on Unsplash: @oilbird_productions
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