Fallen swords of spoken words
Cut through squares of broken glass.
8 x 10 photos echo thoughts of memorized pasts.

Minute worlds cancel swollen glands
of crimson blood.  But the blood pierces through
as shedding tears of a life I can not redeem;
with the life I have lived.

Falling to my knees, whispering
cries of crimson blood,
you carry my soul across the bridge of piercing nails,
rusted with the blood of fallen souls.

And upon this task you shed a smile
saying, "I am always with you my child."
And with every passing hour, I wonder
how much longer before I re-open your scars
of sacrifice.