There’s my cross
leaning on the wall
in the corner of my room
there’s my crown of thorns
hidden under the bed
covered in old dust
there’s my nails
shiny new and unused
in the drawer of my dresser
there’s my clothes
not a drop of blood anywhere
clean and fresh and newly ironed
there’s my mirror
and the image of my unscarred face
looking back – haunted mockery
there’s my voice
lifting high to hope-filled heaven
crying in unfelt pain –
"my God, my God!
why have I forsaken you?"
Harnessing Chaos 