The Worn Out Cloth

These cracked and weakened hands

Wringing this worn out cloth

For every last drop

That wasn’t already there

A desperate search for purity

Yields not but the divine nature of futility

Becoming brilliantly careless

An effortless smile

Erupts into laughter

A servant of humility

Discarded notions of ability

A hint of there-ness

Tickling this moment from beneath my skin

The once cursed silent dialogue of truth

Bathes me in a pool of the senses

Softening my pursuit

So I may be pursued

Hand in hand with my soul

Onwards we march

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s