That knife.
Curved as a leaf,
The most perfect of the tree.
Yet with a blade straight and hard.
Ready to take your pain away.
Ready to carve away at your misery.
It's dull from use, but sharp enough,
Sharp enough to dull your pain.
I see you there,
With the blade to your skin,
I tell you no and pray to God.
You can't hold on,
Yet can't let go,
Suspended in your fear and love.
I see the blade get closer to you,
I wince and scream out from my eyes.
We are caught in this silent war.
Them you pause and look up at me,
I tell you no, I scream it in the wind.
I see your eyes, the tears quietly streaming,
Then at once you relax your hand.
The knife falls away,
Clatters to the floor,
I take a breath, and pray its over.
You show your hand, uncut and safe.
I fight the urge to shout in joy,
I did it, I saved you from yourself.
But I can't be there always,
You have to do this on your own now.
It's between you and God.
You need to give him your pain, let him heal you.