We Left the Silver Out
my eyes are baptism.
wash yourself in the wreckage of this place,
as we drag our feet over cold grout,
churning up the dust of older, uglier days.
the pews are stripped of their polish,
the brass candleholders are green with rust,
and the ceiling still arches up
toward something infinite.
echoes still ring off the damp fieldstone,
like a knife dragging across a plate.
and yet, we set out the silver,
and lay the cloth over the dark stains
we never managed to bleach out,
the air grows thick
with the heat of years of resentment
reverberating through the hollow
where a home was supposed to be.
not a choir of strangers,
not a choir of saints,
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i suppose we scream,
then its becuse we are bound here.
and if we bleed,
it is because we share the same blood.
and if i keep coming back to this table,
let it be to find a way to forgive you.
we love you, we love you,
then why do you bring us back here?
why do you drag us back to the slaughter?
and why do we crawl to the pulpit on bleeding knees?
there is no grace in this room,
and no absolution waiting at the end of the aisle;
so why do we return?
yoshi
therewillbebetterdays
thotsndprayerslmao
