At the Hem

At the Hem
by Lyn Marinello

I am an open book

    penned in invisible ink
Incredibly pensive
    with thoughts unworthy to think
I've battled foes
    unseen by the masses
Sprinting through life
    as I trudge in molasses
I see little I like
    in my mirrored reflection
Rise from the ashes
    to greet new dejection
I dance to life's cha-cha
    on sore, calloused feet
Feast on hope never ending
    that tastes so bittersweet
There's a pain in betrayal
    the soul can't correct
An ache indescribable
    from complete disrespect
As a tired head raises
    adrift in a hurt filled haze
I can almost see clearly
    the error of my ways
I have searched for the answers
    in the person adjacent
Thought "little" wrongs don't count
    I became completely complacent
I bartered and bargained,
    plead for forgiveness, redemption
Thought that maybe some status
    provides a safety, exemption
I've learned salvation exists
    as I see when I probe
Not in material, money or man
    but at the hem of His robe