From the cleft of the rock
Fast and hard
Yet it was a drifting.
Gravity of self-sufficient pride and curiosity
Believing I knew.
I could not be told.
Because I would not listen
For your finger had pushed me out.
You said it was coming.
You warned me and
yet I challenged you to your core.
To my rotten core
For my own good the free falling made me scream.
Made me weep.
Yet you did not listen to my cries for help.
For I had not hit the wounding bottom of my puffed up pretense and pugnacious presumption. As the puffs of breath held me down.
They made me weep.
It was after I hit the rocks.
It was after my ribs were broken.
It was after my bloodied nose could breathe.
That my swollen eyes could see.
The wine press of your wrath squeezed my life.
It killed me on the tree.
It marked me five times over with indelible scars
That were not