..............For My Father...The Slip, Falling
Our Father. I beg
The begging. Kneel.
In kneeling, blooded flesh.
Bloody hands' supplication.
Do not lift my soul, eyes, heart.
Not now. Not this day.
I will not pray, but
Hundreds of staples in my
Eyes open to ceiling, tears icing
Sheeted, still form.
Our Father...my Father-
'Daughter, ' whispered split lips,
'I love you.'
His eyes, mine. Heart, soul...
Steel belief again, rain prayer
Reality to prayer...
Where the compassion suffered
On your cross...
Where, the divine guiding...
Surgeons' hands, bloody.
Too high this price...for my
Where, your salvation...
Hear you curses
Louder than prayer?
Clothe demons, not angels?
Do you hear me? Watch me?
See me place yellow roses
On this stone.
The stone which set you free...
With my Father...
elysabeth faslund's Other Poems
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