A Deathlike Flower

The battle is half the life

I’ve lived,

The other half–

The raw stench

Of library books

And CDs well-worn

through the polycarbonate

And the list of lies

That reeked of ink–

A deathlike flower,

Budding and bursting

Through each neuron

Until my brain was victim

to itself.

But then my eyes turned

Virgin-like to the words

on Your pages,

And I saw a truth,

the Truth,

About where we’ve

Been,

Where we’re going,

And how to heal

My weathered nerves

Beneath

the helmet of

Salvation.