Disconnected Fists

they are visible, don’t worry, it’s now clear.
you’ve made them known to us, you’ve brought them near.
you’ve parted the black night to show their flurry
you’ve pierced the darkness with them, they are here
in front of me, swinging in violent sphere
and they connected judgement with rank fear.

those hard bones writhe, they crawl beneath your skin,
those bones now brittle with the pain within
and become sharp-edged, cutting thru the din
with angles, planes, indictments of old sin
imagined, perceived lurking deep within
and cloaked beneath your tattooed skin so thin…

and seeing those determined self wounds glare,
those prison house tattoos inflicted…where?
haha!  where not is more the likely question!
those long years harboring the things you think
and living with that historical stink
to birth your athenaeum of hot ink.

yes, I see them hanging, disconnected fists
I see the ritual mutilating notes
written on you, canvas once so soft
and now a record of your fists aloft
and shaking clenched, like Charon’s fated boats
attempting to defeat the smothering mists…

i beg you…let your hands let go of you
and let the ink run backwards up your arms
and let forgiveness work her healing charms
and let your face be wet with grace’s dew
whatever…regardless, I love you
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5 thoughts on “Disconnected Fists

    • Thank you Elli… You will be knowing all too well the “what” of this… The “who” is really not that important. Glad you understand, and sad too. No one should get this poem too easily. But sadly, most can relate.

  1. “those long years harboring the things you think
    and living with that historical stink
    to birth your athenaeum of hot ink.”

    Oh my, Sis.
    If only he knew what he thought he did.
    If only.

  2. Pingback: Disconnected Fists – Cage-Free Christian

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