I suppose faith would indeed be seen as weak,
those who pity us
who rely on the unseen. For true strength
rises up on the wings of broken
hearts and flesh, invisible,
not because of what we have done but
because of who HE is.
pity is for the ones who do not know
who cannot see the goodness
in the land of the living,
who cannot help
but mock and reopen the stripes of the
who died for even them. No
from arguing about the shade of red to a blind man.
And so we traipse
on, the bruised and weary land
I love thirsting for the one drink
they refuse to taste.