the beautiful wounds

there are battles everyday, small medium and large,
that can stain, bruise, cut and scar our skin,
memories, hands and hearts;

some of these are more
lasting, while others less inclined to be so insistent,
less likely to remain after the battle has long ended.

i care less for these less stubborn scars, these fast falling
fading stars; i prefer a stronger imprint than a fleeting skirmish or a flickering grief

if there are battles, let us fight for the something that is
worthy, fierce, lasting and deep; a planting that will remain long after glorious endings

You see, there’s a thing made of nobility and blood that pulses through this dust and makes impossible a settling for just a skin-deep touch

so grant me the scars that remain past the cries, scuffles and epics

the ones that stay, humbly, past all remembrance,

that linger like a long-lost lover found again, noble and pure;

the wounds that like to hover just so upon your memory, hand and heart;
That like to crown your soul like an intoxicating embrace so you’ll never forget the price that had to be paid for such a sweet fragrance:

an exploded heart leaking blood and water, pierced
hands and feet, a punctured brow, and the back-slashes
of disease and death that clawed out the golden flesh

And the blows, the blows, the blows

willingly received for the sake of something lasting and beautiful and free

The blows willingly received for the sake of you and me

These are the wounds that I would have remain

These are the wounds that I would have remain

I have seen the wounds of God
And they are you and they are me