Every Broken Thing

A Dark Dismay
The Poetry Of Lance McKnight
A Dark Dismay

Seeing you hang there I
don’t know who
you are. Whose you are.
How can I forsake what I don’t
even recognize? The taut
sinews bulging through flesh
as if to grasp iron, not refuse
it. How can I pray in that
instant, that finality that blinds
even God Himself?

Aren’t we all caught up in that
moment – the rush of pain
so foreign, even the Earth
cannot bear? Secreted in tomb,
encased in stone, wrapped white
against birth. Even our scars
betray us. A minute scratch
transudes just enough to seep through
fiber and course its flow as if
through vein. We unravel the veil,
loose bonds not intent on binding. Free
ourselves like some forgotten hostage.
Only to be faced with stone – banished
like birth undesired. Hammering away
at granite, our screams deadened, betrayed
by no echo. As fragments of flesh transfer
to wall, our fluids ooze between fissures
left unsealed by some unnamed stone
mason. Locked firm to cavern, desperate    
in solitary bliss. Unrecognized by tourist
or monk or even father. To age
forever. Undaunted by grace.