Red

There is blood on my hands, though I wash them clean:
blood of men dead by my silence,
shame I hid for his sake, for hers.

And now the shattering has begun
I stand in a still place and I wonder,
did I do right by my closed lips?
Or did I think only to protect myself,
and hide behind supposed innoncence?

Did I create for myself righteousness
so I could stand back and judge
implicated by association,
  blameless by my own accounting?

Be it all as it may, blood is shed
and it housed a life now gone
a life that can be laid at my feet
on my head
staining my hands
Blood is red
guilt is heavy
shame is endless.
I am tired.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: