Friday, December 31, 2010

Into my Hand

I take into my hand
A rose from a land
The Choctaw called
Red People
You come from a place
So much like you
So wild and untamed
I know you are beautiful
And do not know
Your name
The sorrow you have
Cannot be hidden
But it can be soothed
I beg you to stop
But you continue
The broken glass
Cuts you to ribbons
So why do you
Choose to crawl
Straight though
The future remains
Hope remains
Within reach
So why do you cry
Again and let your heart
Be maimed
Again and again
You offer yourself up
To be wounded
When you could just
Let it end
And begin again
With someone
Who’d love you