Friday

My soul told my mind a sad story on a Friday:

“Wood from the tree, nails from the ground deep within. A hammer from the minds who wanted to make it easier to pierce a nail through. 

———-

Now pounded on the flesh of the immortal. High up, in-between the two, for all to see, close to the city. 

Poked the lamb, only for the showers of mercy to fall on those who do not deserve it. Blind even with eyes, not really walking the path even with legs, working to work, not really fighting for truth. 

Not really existing, just breathing without existing.”

———-

Tears each time I realize someone gave their life for me, for me to have a soul. For me to have truth.