Dark Deliverance

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Rivers of ink beneath the surface of skin
pool in patterns proclaiming stories within.
Written in cleansing pain,
a testimony to the agony of thought,
they gently scream redemption.

These are rivers that did not begin in lofty
mountains but crept from the womb of the
soul, bringing with them splinters of a
personal cross.

Skin gladly bears burdens the heart cannot.
Violent art, beauty wrought in dark fluid
carries tortured thoughts to the light;
relief of disclosure without crucifixion of
pride. For the eyes of the many are blind.

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