Pure Expressions

Pure Expressions

Let my pure expressions be blameless before the
words of those who would discover wrong, rummaging through
the details in the dark or in the light. Let my spotless,
pure in sunshine white, speak better than my silence or
defense of intentions.

And yet, My Perfect Master, I find more to indict myself than
any picker through my life ever discovers. I fear I will never 
come clean enough to admit enough without
eyes popping open.

Oh my friend, where did you find such words to say?
And why, though my sores are nearly healed, do new
tortures show their teeth again? How can I plead innocent
to murder
when I've thought such angry ways to remove
the attacker’s influence completely? Come, walk with me
for an hour, and speak. I will listen to your complaint; I am 
ready to understand why your words 
paint me like dangerous quicksand.

And yet I am not a murderer, but still I am;
an imperfect follower, caught while fixing my wounds
and hoping to take the next challenge well.

So the tears fall again, the heart beats fast again,
and self-defense is foolish. But sadness tosses me
deeper and I will lie on the ground until sun sets tomorrow.

Did anyone see that my bandages finally were off?
And now another arrow to the heart, second hand ammunition;
though the words are untrue, I am never innocent, and feel the
burn of tears, the flush of nerves blooding my face.

I will love how I can; understand I would have stood by you
against every accusation thrown even when the evidence
was known all over town. And, still, I will sit by your pain
as friends do.

My words will be few.