Out of my mouth come words
Like ugly flowers
Nursed on bitter waters
More black than blue
More lies than true

Smelling of a stinky slough
Of oozing wounds and decay
Unseen and hidden
But real

Perhaps a clear spring
Still exists beneath
Perhaps the Divine Hand
Can heal and cleanse
What I cannot yet reach
Beneath my soul’s surface
In murky depths
That ought to be clear.