Rhadamanthine

Rhada
Man
Thine

 To the world’s

You are scum—
Always have
Forever will be.

Unflexible & harsh,
Sharp like
Mistakes
Plunged through delicate flesh

Paper-thin

Translucent skin

Scribbled
Sentence on—

Sentence—

Words strung
Like pearls around a neck;
Words come undone

A white marble mess.

 Sentense—
Bound punishment
Sanctioned pack-back
For the unforgivable moments
you built your secret world upon.

 A secret world

That makes you now unworthy
Of a human status—

 Unworthy to be
And call

Yourself alive—

 But behind impenetrable bars
Like lines of a barcode
On the purchase of an object—

You become the disposable one.

You are object
Reduced and defined
by the contents
Of your label.

But this is the world—
In you, in I

Exists another

 

A deep, cosmic reckless Power

Whose justice exudes Love
And whose wise judgment
Fades…

 Pale colours into horizon

Colliding and becoming One
With the brilliant hues of grace

 A subversive and

Beautifully scandalous grace.

 This Power
-          The quiet ghost—

Defies laws,
Bars
And rejection

 Opens up and unfolds into you

Already part of you.

 This Voice,

is the quiet one
Who mourned your secrets,
And ached for a revelation
Of flaws turned ugly under light.

 And here you are—

Sentenced and locked apart

But this Power

This Voice, this omniscient Presence
Pardons you

Freedom

 A release

An underserved yet richly encompassing love
That gives you back
the humanity that was once stripped away

 And who whispers softly

Through the thick layers of your shame:

 “I have made you beautiful again”.