Fix

The basement of my mind in you,

would cause for you disdain.

Each and every word, 

there few are held in such a frame.

The tidy way that you clean-up would not scare off the new.

The Mark, the Box, the Metal Frame,

the rings that held someone I knew.

Your face would go from frame to frame,

as they puzzled through.

Distance so far from all the pain

made all of this so true.

I doth see death,

call him by name

a man I did not know.

The Cross was held, 
cup in hand, 
it looked like a brew.

The blazoned knife,
 would cut straight through,
 the darkened man I knew.

Stand straight,
 stand thin, 
you will not win,
 its time to give it in,

white skin of sin doth call you in to depths of grounds, 
adore.

You were not men,

just caught up in, 

a time of rural truth.

I'm sorry for the fix I'm in, 
I will remember you.

K.A.P.

5/3/2009