THREE

Three drops of Muslim blood
Oozed from out the sun
With fallow abandon.

We are the unbending witness;
The joy and sorrow dancing together.
Any mockery of this leaves us cold
And forsaken of sacrament.

It is the easy path to expiation
But it is not atonement, it is fear;
Dread; The rue of participation,
The dangling blade of our souls
Cowering from significance.

What power has the sun
If it but only gives?
What power have we
If we but only take?

We build this great wall inside ourselves
So the sun will matter not,
So the blood that flows
Will not touch our skin.
We have the wall to protect us from the sun,
The distance too great to face..

The drops will not splatter their truth
Tarnishing our slapdash limbs.
The three liquids will have to find
Another pocket to wash,
Another hand to sully,
Another soul to haunt,
For the wall will shelter us.
The wall will keep it from us,
From our witness,
From our shared humanity.

Three drops of Muslim blood
Oozed from out the sun
With fallow abandon
And we felt nothing…


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman