Red ink armor

     Red ink crosses out the
negative lines expressed in scratches
across the wall.

     Oh the eyes cry silent tears, sobs
as the memories are burned, buried deep.

     So long are they hidden. So much
to uncover. Still, is it best to allow such?

     To wonder is hurtful. To ask is
only right. Where does me or us play
a part on stone?

     Careful of the thoughts. Distance
the mind crawls to avoid a glance in
past. So much to recall and so much to
clean out.

     Place the hurt upon the shelf
in a locked room. Did I want to cry?
Oh no but my eyes didn't listen to
mind, only to heart.

     Tear down the wall built of cold
stone. The bitterness to cease. Oh how
the sharp sword cuts and still I am
okay.

     I thank Jehovah for the armor.
          Wouldn't you?