The Brazen Man (Sin2)

Sin 2

The bronze skin of the brazen man radiates the golden sweat that treads his scarred hand.  The open wounds peaceful neighbors with the healed precursors of pain log lost to him and his body.  The nerves, like the rivers of his home, weave in and out under his skin which glistens golden brown like that of the dirt beneath his humble feet.  The hand shakes ever so modestly, to not to give away his joy and fear…and the signs of ailments that starve to plague him.  Oh yes how his hands shakes with such modesty and docile demeanor as oppose to the man who is anything but.  The man who waged the war of sins against his own flesh only to have lost to his conscious…or whatever it maybe now, only the open wounds can tell, the healed ones have since long forgotten…it has been too long for them, they are now only inks of life etched upon a peasant canvas.

The lonely, insolent drop betrays it’s heard and trickles down to the fingernail.  It is racing with fervor most would fear.  It is racing faster than it realizes but to what avail….it’ll only become another drop among the tears of the towering darkness whose hand shakes in delight.  Another drop to have been forgotten and yet the deed is done.  He felt it; he felt it more than he felt his own heart stabbing inward.  He felt that drop shimmy down his finger and oh what a joy it was to the man.  To feel what he had been denied.  To feel the cool drops of the desert heat invade his vicinity...perhaps that is why his hand shakes, he has begun to feel and the resulting rapture is of ungodly delights.  Delights his dry eyes long to stare upon, delights that will only be the beginning.