POEM FOR SARAH

When I write,

I see rather than say and

Thus my soul wraps around itself

In a bloody hellfire flame,

And in time - after a bit of suffering -

An angel comes,

Shading me with her wings,

Whispering a blessing,

And sometimes,

Jesus will even take me by the hand,

Allowing me to see his

Wounds.

They are still unhealed.

Like yours.

Like mine.