I looked into the realm of memories and my heart was heavy with the vision. Moment-feathers clutched by black tarred walls, a stench of guilt and stinking and clinging to each fragile wisp like a hot fist claiming corrupted rights to a life — my life.
But then. Blood sprayed and splattered cascading the walls, a white-washing from the Breath of Grace. It came and covered until the tarred backdrop was saturated and the feathers wet and dripping, wrenched down.
Then came the water
A deluge
And a Hand
A force of Love
Raised each washed memory
And regrouped them with clarity
On an illuminated canvas
In Principio
Redeemed