words i writ and thence

on a dark path
all things that were to be were seen
and scratched and clawed
and made nice and embraced
but all the hurt poured in to every stress fracture
and made the thing start
and was too late for pittance
and plenty
too late for much of anything
but still you look upon the cracked and ragged peices
and ask again for forgiveness and redemption and other sunday promises
frown down upon the free and thriving thing
that which is good and holy
and untouchable by your redemptions
and sanitations