One mans burden has become mine. Darkness shown, madness sewn...Enjoy |
-Open Are His Hands- by Keaton Foster There Is a man Open Are his hands Upon Each palm Are words Written In blood Etched Into his skin Oh the pain He must feel But He is silent His lips Stitched shut His eyes Sliced open His skin Ghastly white His heart Like a drum Oh does it beat From his chest Laboring Is each new breath He struggles to live As more of him Embraces death All alone Are him and I Here In the deepest woods As he approaches Open Are his hands The words Vacant english Upon the surface Little meaning Can be had Much sincerity Indeed applied As he stands Before me I read each one Study the curves And the methods No doubt used The man Stoic and true Speaks nothing But spells out Every dark truth When I’m done When all that was read Soaks me to the bone I place my own palms Upward Towards the sky Those same words Appear as scars Healed wounds Long since dealt What was his Becomes mine He turns from me Slipping back Into the madness Into a deeper sadness Open Are his hands As he walks away The words once his Increasingly become More familiar Flooding my mind Saturating my soul Spreading into every idea Yet to be exposed Never again Will I see his face Never again Will I face such fear He disappears And I am left here Alone Just as before Just as forevermore I take the weight gained And I carry my load Off into the world known I show all who’ll see I relay such words To all who’ll believe It will take much time A damn near life’s worth But just like him I’ll continue on His wounds Have become mine His injuries Turned scars Are now my injuries Bleeding much truth Spelling out Many absolutes Open Are these hands… Open Are His Hands Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015. |