I Put the Blade

I put the knife up to my heart, and would have driven through, but was delayed by memories of hope, of life, of you And yet each fond remembrance was met by bitter thought 'til at hell's welcoming entrance against myself I fought It was my heart against my mind, my blood against my soul, my hand which sought with death to bind, desperate for control. And justice would have been well-served. I judged myself and lost. The road I thought was straight was curved. Decisions free had cost. I could not answer my accuser I could not do but cry I had no basis to refuse her, her claims that I must die And so I stood with shaky hands, a blade against my chest, and sought to answer just demands with blood from heart and breast. A royal red ran down my blade. It ran a rivulet. It ran, but yet the point was stayed. Jammed in bone it set. I pulled the blade to plunge again. I pulled and felt the pain. I pulled and felt my knees give way. The light began to wane. I woke with blade still in my hand The blood all dried and dark. The wound upon my chest a brand Where failed death left its mark My soul had gained a short reprieve My need to live restored But pride had left without retrieve I saw and was abhorred I saw my rot, my void, my stain A cancer on my soul My hopeless state to me was plain I could not make it whole. My premise on premise on premise destroyed, My purpose for living a sham, I sought for which I was devoid a reason to say I am. I needed a reason to persist. A reason I was dearth. A reason to breathe and to exist alive upon this earth. I looked to the blade all dark and red and the hole in my bloody hide and remembered a tale of a God-man dead and a spear that had pierced his side If they were right, if I was wrong, if he could cancel sin, if in my weakness he was strong, then I should let him in. And so I reconsidered that to which I had objected, a love that meets me where I'm at, a love I had rejected. If he could call one such as I then how could I refuse the love of one who chose to die And suffering bade me choose. Oh choice on choice the answer came, my blackness had been lifted, and with it went all guilt and blame, The burden had been shifted. Of tears, oh tears, there came a flood that praised him with their dropping, for paying all had been his blood, redemption never stopping. Laugh, if you must, at my story and pity me in your pride as I credit all to His glory who saved me when He died. Consider your life, the time is here, His merciful words are true. So hearing them, this time give ear. The one he calls is you. Written December 13th, 2001 © on Dec 13 2001 08:27 AM PST   0 • 1