My knees bore the weight of every inch of my life!
I tried to send that desperate guilt to Heaven and slip, through the keyhole of the back door, like a snake!
But my knees bore the oppressive weight!
I cried for God, Snake, dead Mother, Father, murdered brother, any of Heaven's children to take my pox ridden hand and deliver me to the one, true, place of comfort!
But my knees bore the weight.
My knees dug into the mud of Heaven and begged for an open door. A crack, a crevice, a speck of comfort and forgiveness.
A simple, pox ridden hand, from He who feeds and gives sanctuary, and promise's that bygone days will sleep forever.
But my knees bled for the masses.
I wept for the dear, the deeply loved, the departed. And I fell to my knees.
"He" was above me and was lost in thoughts of vengeance as I crawled. As I hoped, begged, wept for my knees, the masses, the blood that coagulated and found no end to it's weathered, endless and glorious endless universe.
While I sunk to all that is deep an strange.
And bore the weight.