Splintered - By Emily Wickerham

 (Please do not copy or steal)

splintered
halved
divided

one reveal two
two declare three
the others

duplicity
shattered

breaking
and the broken

pressure on pressure
cracks in bone
raw and weak

sifting ashes
sand
fragments mingle

the division
embers ignite
inevitable

core aflame
the stirring
switch names

doubt

pleasure granted
child delighted
watchful eyes

- Never touch her, you never will, she is mine -

wells of anger
oily fury
secrets kindle

hold fast identity
soul is safe
fear not

Where is the end? Eyes heavenward here I arrive at the final mark. Faintly inscribed on the hilt of the sword the words alight read, "I, Elohim who formed you from dust do know your every part. Not a forgotten minute or mistaken word do I miss. There is a way out, I've marked it right here for you. In time you will see it too. Trust me, my child. There is a way out."

 

Through Many Fields - By Emily Wickerham

 (Please do not copy or steal)

Through many fields I wander,
Down many paths I trod.

The Caretaker of the fields,
I meet Him in the hollows.

Under bent oaks we sit;
Upon cushioned moss we listen.

Undulating shadows downward cast,
Fleeting ghosts in the negative.

Stillness wrought from shivering whispers,
Grasses part to lead beyond.

Solemnly, lovingly beckoned,
'Tis not the last field for me.

Here I meet myself coming,
Here I meet myself going,
Here there is freedom for me.

In the next field over waiting,
I must pass through thorny hedges.

It needs be sharp, rending flesh,
To tear the mask away.

Drenched with blood, tears,
In a puddle fallen.

Demons rebuked lament.
Denied claws sheath.

Raw skin now meets sunlight.
Unused, concealed, long guarded,
Nearly lost in the grooves of time.

Cast against an old tree I slump,
Moaning, thirsty, broken.

Soft breezes sweet,
Soothe my fevered face.

My new skin the Caretaker nurses.
Gently knitting, mercifully mending.

"This field is so nice," I murmur,
Lolling against His side.

In silent agreement the Caretaker,
Offers a steadying arm.

On my feet, hands to my face,
I feel no scars, no bleeding wounds.

Astonishment growing, 
Childlike wonderment blossoms.

The Caretaker broadens a smile.
My heart leaps within.

Ancient hands cup my chin,
Grasp of eternal caressing finite.

"This field is nice, indeed my child."
A pause draws me into His gaze.
"But you should see the one up ahead."

AMEN