how could anything other than love
pour out of this heart of mine
where the gnarled roots of sin
have intertwined themselves
with my soul and spirit
and by the time their slow growth
is felt by my consciousness
it’s too late for me to begin
chopping the snarled branches
or slicing the wooden ropes
for if I truly succeeded
in cutting through a limb
the roots would circle themselves
about my wearied neck
and there hang like moss from a tree
until my breath was stopped
and my life drained away
leaving me powerless
for this is the nature of sin
that it weaves itself into a trap
and as soon as the realization dawns
and desperation sets in
the harried hacking only serves to demonstrate
how utterly lost we are on our own
unable to escape from the heavy mass
of twistedness that meets us
with an onslaught of lies
that we are nothing, no one, worthless
hope sinks from sight beneath attacks
and all seems lost
until suddenly there beams a light
of whitest brightness that bears down
on the cage of branches and sets it
aflame so that it burns down to
the ash and dust and dirt that it came from
and I am left lying on soft fresh grass
that peeps up from the ashes shyly
as if its presence doesn’t quite know
whether it’s welcome or whether
it will be permitted to stay but I answer
all its fears with a single tear
that slides down my cheek until
it gently presses itself into the ground
to nourish the grass
and my eyes are filled with wonder
that anyone would plant
such fragile seedlings near a person
as broken and ugly
and stained and weak as me
but that fact is the very reason
that love drenches the air
as the scent pours forth
from my blooming heart