And when you serve,
Start with the feet

And when you serve,
Get down low
With a towel and a water bowl

And when you serve,
Find your honour not over
But under
Not higher
But lower
Not first
But last.

So when you serve,
Don't wait your turn
But push your way
Right to the back.
Where you'll find
Nothing to prove
Nothing to hide
And nothing to loose
But your pride.

Yes, you heard,
When you serve
Observe His example:
Undo a sandal
And start - with - the - feet.

Bend down today
in humble submission,
in groveling forgiveness,
and wash the feet
of another.

Partner with your savior,
recognize the filth
of your own sin,
and wash the feet
of another.

Become acquainted
with the essence
of your existence
by washing the feet
of another.

Esteem one higher
than yourself,
meet that lowest place,
and wash the feet
of another.

You will find
how you too will
become clean when
you wash the feet
of another.

So do not tarry,
no, now, today
bend down
and wash the feet
of another.

hang the clean laundry
on the rafter
above my head

tired hands
wring out drenched
sweaters

clothing above me dripping,
the drops fall on me
like rain

The heart, the warmest sea;
night dives in
chasing dreams,
then suddenly
the day has come ashore;
a smile crawls blissfully
and parts the waves
to reach the sun
to ask for more
of the same
exchange of warmth

Numb loathing cannot portray
all the words I could say,
I may shake but
my insides rage.

Here comes my sun,
to me, you're no one
I'll be alright,
I'll sleep tonight,

You're childish, disgusting
placing empty words
where "sorry" should be,
Sorry I spat you out,
I just detest sour coffee.

Watch me set
your words on fire,
Watch me pull out
the card that'll
end this game,
watch me wash
my hands clean of you,
watch me forget
your name.

- Crimsyy

Every line,
curved and straight,

every crease and fold;
every hole.

Every bump and bruise,
every lump, and anything smooth;

scars and scratches,
breaks and blemishes.

Every part of my being,
every crack in my soul;

I wish I could wash it all away.

I house thunder inside of these bones.
I contain lightning inside my heart.
I contain raindrops in my veins.

I am the storm.

But, do not worry dear plebeians, I do not strike on dark days of gray,
Only on dark days of pain.

I pour down on the suffering, to wash away all of their troubles.
And I'd rather have a lifetime of saving rain than a constantly-glowing sun.

Because the Sun is just too dim compared to the fire that burns inside of me.

Fingers through grass,
Green.
Stained against flesh,
Guilty.
The water will never
wash away your crimes.
Rip it from the earth,
dirt against skin,
Brown,
Mud,
Crusting.
The water will never
wash away the sin,
Forever marked
against your
Pale
Plaster
Skin.