In their
house
Fingers fumble on
Plastic purple
Rosary beads
And on
the
Kitchen wall
And in
the hall
Jesus bleeds
As a
child I struggled
To tie
the blindfold
Over my
own eyes
To see
Him
More clearly
What an
Empty child
To take
the weight
Of that
hammer
In my
hands
Nature and
purpose
Defined
Comfort rendered
Now my
faith
Lies alone
In the
stories
He told
And I
think He
Never wished
To become
more
Than his
words.
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