Blood Stained Hands

Blood Stained Hands

Scratch, paw, and tear,

Wash, scrub, and rinse;

To no avail, the stain remains

On your blood stained hands.

Spit, bite, and rub

Bleach, hide and cry;

This stain shall remain,

And your remedy is beyond you.

It is a doctor you need, universal lady Macbeth;

No ointment or surgery will do,

But rather the working of the Divine

Is your only hope to have clean hands again,

This is the hardest part, because you can not do it!

Let me repeat that, cursed lady Macbeth of Adam,

You can not do it! You can not clean your own hands!

“I must try”, you say,

No you must not,

For the longer you try the worse the stain,

With every attempt, you only become more of what you are,

Namely, blood stained;

“What can I do; for I see that I am in a most loathsome position?”

Correct you are, and ‘do’ is not so much what you will do,

All that you can do is take your blood ridden hands,

And present them to the Divine,

Not his workers here on earth, but directly to him,

Take no gift, nothing, but the confession of your sorry state,

And your utterly humble request for a new;

Lift your disgusting and guilty hands before him

Blood ridden and empty,

Confess that you are a child of the curse,

And plead for his Majesty’s mercy.

This and only this will do.