Bloody Hands
By Tara Nicole Walker
Dedicated to Kieran Lee MacPhail
The lonely, hollow sound
Of blood dripping from open hands
A thing of wonder
Resting at the culprit's feet
Being ripped from the being
That it belonged with
Nonetheless it still lives
With the throbbing light
Of spiteful life and power
(drip, drip)
My blood still falls like rain
Pouring from a newly made
Roughly hewn wound
Each heartbeat unleashing more
Of life's with fluid
Into the impure atmosphere
Of the earth
Becoming diseased and putrid
Yet maintaining a certain sense
Of innocence - somehow
Despite the work of the Orator
My blood becomes a puddle underfoot
A reflective pool of pain
And lessons learned
No sound but the hollow dripping
Reverberating off of darkened
Cement walls
The same that enclose my soul
The same that enclose my mind
The very same
That enclose my heart
All prisoners of those walls
This darkness
This Orator
This life of ever-death
Prisoners of this blood
Fighting for those loving arms
That await just out of reach
Those open hands
Glistening with warm, fresh blood.
My blood
Those same hands
Fighting so hard to hold me near
As they fight so hard to push me away
Thos bloody hands
The Orator's hands
That fight so desperately
To suck all happiness from my life
Why will I not give up?
Why does the Orator wish me to?
Because I will not let go
Of the sole thing that brings me
Purpose and happiness: