They Say He Looked On Me With Love

His hands were worth so much,
They were etched with the fingerprints only perfection could perform.
His ankles were bound to strong feet,
Fit for walking to wherever his father’s whisper lingered.
He was more than I ever gave him credit,
He was more than I ever noticed.
His words were truth
But I still asked what more could I give.
They say he looked on me with love
When I stood between the poor and my pockets.
They say he looked on me with love
When I fancied life’s decorations over his eternal promises.
And somehow,
When life turned me into laboring and striving,
Achieving and gaining,
Winning and cashing in all the happiness for empty tears and numb pity,
Somehow He sank deeper and deeper into the shadow
Cast behind my mound of all I tried to hold onto,
But I’m running out of hands
And my hands are running out of fingers
And the grasp that I thought I had on this world slipped one more time through my webbings
And landed with a royal rushing plead of “what more can I give?”
And they say he looked on me with love
When I walked away,
Still tied to my master,
My strife.
And here I am sinking in echoing words of Solomon,
In the paintings of David’s poems
And the reminders that lift off pages alive and breathing,
But I’m molding inside while the less-dressed freeze
And the hungry growl once more for what I am held captive to.
This piece of me is wrapped up into every heart,
Every labyrinth of veins and tissue and brain,
Every fallen spirit beats these same memorizing temptations
That leave the selfish crooked and owned,
And the poor thin and deflating.
So I carry onto my shoulders the weight of all I have chosen,
Let it crush and bruise the freedom he talked of,
Let it consume me and mold me and etch into my figure
That of all it was ever meant to be-
The wasting waste of a shifting shadow that I am addicted and enslaved to.
They say he looked on me with love when I claimed to be more than I was,
And they say he kept smiling,
Even as I walked away.

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