In My Blind Spot

Pieces of land

holding past and present bands

visible in my blind spot,

blemishes of time causing the

past to rewind.

Memories never fading

often jaded, captivated

and dissipated.

Sprinkled in the sand

an ever-changing space

of Russian roulette,

despite the human pace.

Always a wrinkle

that couldn’t take the heat.

Years go by

pieces of land detached,

from legacy reaching back towards

destiny - cleaved in high regard,

are the fruit bearers

tangible reeds from the blind spot

beyond the oak trees,

a bunch of legalese fermenting

Sadducees. Never knowing how-who-

when, the seeds of discord

were sown or grown again.

Blood was left behind

with lingering ties combined -

seizing the captive’s freedom

where sin grabbed a-hold

of its demise.

Linked to the old

familiar space

not to preclude the race

or a trace,

so lavishly graced.

Clearing the playing field

grasping what has been -

boasting what’s to come.

The spot where blood was shed,

tears flowed upon the face

of the wounded

captured in the colonies

of hypocrisy and scorned in the

reservoirs of recompense.

Each time the fires broke out

it brought new meaning -

of what’s bestowed in the revelry.

Not knowing to decimate

what’s in the blind spot.

Prayer was the conclusion

not to sit on an illusion-

but a settlement

for all the dirty hands,

practicing in the darkness

warped delusions targeting its prey.

If you haven’t guessed it,

the walls held all the secrets.

The blood purified

what had been broken,

yet and still love conquered all.

Constantly reflecting in the mirror -

hurt and pain

seemingly sealed,

Ancestral locks of gain

never meant to refrain.

In the end

the blood of Jesus settled the score

uniting hearts and minds

removing the blind spot evermore

protecting the lineage of those to come,

setting free the whispers

of the past and burying

the analogies that the Pharisees,

Sadducees, and Scribes once knew -

but never chewed upon.