we speak of boiling blood,
or souls of ice
or both, together
and in the melting, lose our words
our eyes betray the hidden zeal
of fervent prayers and deep despair-
yet blink when others pass,
to keep us safe from admitted pain
which is never the worst kind.
it is the best,
yet we fear it the most.
we crave the need to want more
and so search, and often find
and laugh along when others laugh
at our empty hands, more blessed than they
who never seem to feel alive,
or dead.
confess our sins,
or confess our selves?
which requires more forgiveness?
or which needs more Love?
our evil belongs in emptiness
our selves belong in others.
finally breaking, we can run no more
storm-clouds from across a troubled sea
too heavy to move, too dark to see
we begin to rain...
and when the rain begins,
the filthy air: first blurred, then pure
everything in our world can breathe again
as it was meant to
an expression of how important expression is,
and what we must do now.
