beggars

His tears heal beggars
He weeps and they cheer
for if the Son of Man may cry
any man may bare his soul
however beaten,
bruised,
unrighteous
and be healed by the rivers
from his pure and unblemished eyes
waters laced with medicine
for even the sickest of mortal
mind or spirit
 
but why, save for old grudge
must my ugly heart
my blistering eyes,
that pour mercury
the skin that burns raw beneath
my cheeks, aching
from the teeth of rotting quartz
that has burst through them
mocking a smile that of my father's
 
why must i,
be barred with brambles
thick as a fence, thin as a hair
choking the Name of He
who heals all who weep
 
i weep, i weep!
as my hands swim
through leagues and lifts
of blood and blood and blood
but none of it heals my heart
not like His
 
the Prince's wine
rolls right from my mouth
each hole in my flesh a drain...
 
i kneel and yet
all they see is my claws
 
they grasp for the holes in His sides
His hands, grace all but mine
 
"my King," i cry
"i was once your muse,
your angel,
and you, my Guide"
 
and i see the Prince weep
His tears and His palms hit my shoulders,
mist of His eyes mist in my ratted hair
fog in my feathers
steam upon my skin
 
"once, fallen,
but you vow only
to carry my sword in your ribs
and never at your side"
 
He turns away from this beggar
not so much as a whisper
upon His holy lips
 
the words i wish so desperately
to grace my ears one last time
"your sins be forgiven thee,"
of which i will never hear
 
for i have no soul
and thus, no soul to clear