Poetry

The Knot

Is this folly?

To bind ourselves, flesh to flesh,
in blood and brokenness
and whisper, in defiance,
against the dark: ‘til death.

To mock futility, souls conjoined,
despite the mortal sting
and laugh in the face of emptiness
with this communion sweet.

To die daily, for love asks more
than words—it demands our life:
every frail breath and thought,
a living sacrifice.

Or is this divine?

 

Featured in Germ Magazine November 2015.

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4 thoughts on “The Knot

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