confession

I speak in sermons
sometimes he hears murmurs
and a million kisses can’t fade his pain.
Standing in the same place again,
and again.
Radiating peace,
but all he sees,
is stained.
Glazed.
How do I reach him,
through his armour plate maze?
He’s a promise,
to a fortunate wish we prayed one day.
Imprinted clay,
from the essence of time,
born to be, made to be, loved by mine.
In dignity, poise, grace and rhyme.
I’d stay with him forever if he just saw me,
one time.

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