Indention of The Cross

Glory Maple, standing amongst naked limbs. Fire-red, shrinking inward before I crunch beneath your rubber winter souls...for mine still clings to a trunk of sap-filled lies, waving with the wind in denial that you still see me. Begging that there's still photosynthesis for torn-apart leaves, that I can still make oxygen to help your flock breathe, instead of giving off rage for them to seethe. I place tissue paper over my dried veins, rubbing lead frantically atop their patterned pain, praying they scratch a mark in my bark-covered universe. Shaped like a heart, but smelling of cheap regret and costly tales. Pressed between pages of your Word, bleeding in verse, crying in song...This is how I fall...In the knowing that you are the gentle breeze, carrying me from limbs of change, blowing me in the direction of your narrowed path. You are the metallic, marking me L O V E D. You are the only air I need, for you bled in grace, and carved forgiveness on my rugged tree.