it drips & gushes

soaks & refreshes

it is & will be

and to contain it is to stagnate it.

Instead we must wish it freedom

and rejoice when it covers our head.


We play at sainthood

trying on the robe

and blessing the wine

But we break our skin

not the blessed bread

and sacrifice ourselves

in lieu of a more present saviour.

And when our time of prayer is over

and every drop of wine is drunk

we strip off our clothes

no more enlightened.


They are statues of joy, grief and loss

we are statues of apathy


We embrace their stories

but let their marbled face leave us cold.

We need to be broken

by fire and famine

our veins flooded with bile

our hair scorched to nothing.

Only then can we be rebuilt

with open eyes

and arms to enfold our fellow man.