Thursday, November 06, 2008

A Cleansing

Was it good washing his feet.
Was it like holding cold, dark
heaven. Was it worth soiling
my hands. My hands

were soiled once. A village of hands
held. Threw stones. Was this body
that received the cross.

Was what I felt. Were those men
diseased and dying and walking
after him. Were those my hands
tender and opening.

1 comment:

liquid poetry ♡ said...

Just had to say that I thought this beautiful, Kash. <3, Noey