The young doe lay there, limp in my arms,

an array of white spots on her back.

Tear tracks ran down my dirty face,

and her fur absorbed every drop of sorrow that fell from my eyes,

every sin that we have burdened,

the pain of every drop of blood we have shed.

She is silent, but I know that her pain

is like the crack of lightning on wood,

crystal blades scratching marks into a stone.

Clouds of dust float just above the ground,

making the barren field seem like a sea of dirty water,

laying still and reaching up to my knees.

I lay her down on the ground,

her body swallowed by the dust.

I walk away, the weight of our mistakes off my shoulders,

and I can feel the sadness and sins vanish,

as the new holder of them disappears,

I leave with no more tears left to expel,

leaving no more than all my sorrows in the dust.

Feb. 10, 2010