I wanted it to be something in her,
something broken, something wrong.
A darkness I could point toward
and say, there, in her it belong.
But as I prayed,
On the anger I stopped brewing.
And somewhere in the silence
my own darkness came pursuing.
I thought of all my sins,
the ones I bury, and push and hide.
On the things I wouldn’t confess,
even if God stood at my side.
And I wondered about the others,
what demons do they feed?
What sins do they carry quietly,
what darkness do they need?
Do they look at me
and whisper the same things?
Do they see my brokenness
beneath the good I bring?
Perhaps we’re all accusing shadows,
pointing fingers in the night.
While hiding our own shadows,
just beyond the light.
But maybe what should frighten us most.
When we forget the forgiveness –
Of The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost.
Smith Shine Poetry 