Colorblind

The colors all in bloom
The angels out of tune

Now all that's said and done, brings a cursing to our blood
Misdirection buried in the dirt of all that was
The garden and the sacred seed
The shepherd without His sheep

Asunder we grow in intention
The denouement of a dogma
Revere for affliction, grateful for ache
Cicatrix of stigmata

The colors all in bloom, the angels out of tune
Cross these crimson hues, to see the burden of bad fruit

The heart will be weighed in its time
Withered dianthus, bleeding dry

Is the weight upon your aching feet enough to bury me?
Empty words fueling contention, the flame that promises redemption
Take away, and leave all with nothing
All who ask and beg to feel something
Swear to your faith, and swear to your hate, to say a page holds the shame to my face
The hate you leave in the end, doesn't mean you'll live once again