Slivered soak of weeping flesh,
is sculpted deep and true,
to show the face of suffering
which I will wear for you.
The cross of life's confessional,
is carved upon my soul,
and written deep in gentled arms;
nailed firm to history's wall.
Raised high upon ancestral trees,
sunk deep in bitter earth,
my pain is layered dreamily;
revealed as Shadow's curse.
The crucifixion is complete,
my destiny assured,
as cloven hoof and budded horns,
bear witness to your cause.
Yep. That Killing Me Softly feeling yet again. This made me think of a life lived according to a script - and a passive resignation of the destiny awaiting. Probably due to my melancholic disposition - I found this quite comforting. The painting is superb.
ReplyDeleteYes, absolutely. I have come to believe that we may not choose what comes to us in life but that we have some choice, to lesser and greater degrees, as to what we do with what comes to us. My mother, as tragic nemesis, was also my greatest teacher and in the last years of her life I found it helpful to think that perhaps she lived her life and her 'script' in order to 'teach' others - or rather, in order that others might learn. I know I did and do.
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