177. Bloodwork


Nothing I say means one bit to this world,

Or anything on it which dwells.

For eyes which can see,

May not read what doth be,

In the ink-work that on paper quells.

Words may have form and a structure to glean,

But what of the hand which was moved?

To flow and work out,

Scripting as monks devout,

In pursuit of a burdens’ remove?

Yea, O’ to you, who care not what and who,

Has drawn out blood in a known spread,

To show the soul pain,

A person’s heart and brain,

And close your eyes whisp’ring…

“Tears aren’t shed”.

K. Aldaya, 10/14/05

Picture:  “Hush” by Nelleke on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/Hush-422553246


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