Under Their Lamps
I stand a simple girl
Beneath their lifted lamps,
The watchers of Gospel of Luke
Weighing my breath and steps,
Calling me wanting.
They circle with sharpened words,
Mercy on their lips,
Judgment in their hands,
Their cups gleaming outside,
Hollow within.
I am only human—
Dust, doubt, small mistakes,
Learning in quiet corners,
While they sip from clean rims
Hiding bitterness inside.
Let their light expose me,
I have little to polish,
Only what I truly am,
But they remain imprisoned,
By cups clean outside, rotting within.
C