Held to something jagged
Where the edges rake and steal away
The image growing ragged
Where the hands, no longer tender, start to rip and peel the clay

So lovingly created
Out of dissonance or real dismay
What never was elated
Punctuated by the actions speaking louder every day

I finally hear the echo
That returns from such a long delay
Compelling me to let go
Of the voice reiterating it was wrong of me to stay

So why am I still kneeling
At an altar where I fear to pray
And holding to the feeling
That if I continue kneeling, maybe I’ll be worth enough to steal away
© A. P. Christopher 2018
Read more at constant Variable

Image Credits: Unknown…I found it on Google and it led to Pintrest…

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