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white knuckles cling
against peace and cries
for release:
into chaos flying,
centrifugal to death
in attempt to capture
breath for breathing,
through peeling purge
that burns away flesh
to white bone singed and aching
for skin new to grow, to inhale
the holy fire once again,
until the timely scourge
of sin is complete
but now seems never-ending,
a war fought to enter:
the stake in celestial claim,
the conquering of a silent Center
poem by Darrell Rohling
email him at drohling@aol.com
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