Please enjoy this spiritual poem.

For more of my work, you can go here:

The Sharpest Knife

Crimson droplets slide,

spiral

’round a wrist.

A dull, gray glimmer from the chest.

I have to hurry.

The seconds linger,

extending the moment too

long.

If it continues,

the wound will hide itself.

Once more an opportunity vanished.

While I was gone,

the apprentice had ground featureless

mettle

against the grindstone of love.

Then trying too soon, drove the blunt blade

inwards.

But sincerity guided that stroke well.

So I hurry to bring my my student

the sharpest knife possible

to cut all the way through to freedom.

Author

I'm a spiritual teacher who helps people find freedom from suffering.

2 Comments

  1. I love this poem, thank you so much! I’ve worked with people who self harm and I really appreciate how much sincerity they have in their life and in their pain and how much they want a way out of it.

    • Hi Jimmy. I want to be clear that this isn’t a poem about “self-harm.” The knife is a metaphor for tools like coming back to awareness and journaling. It’s also a metaphor for how the student doesn’t initially use those tools well in the service of realizing spiritual freedom.

Write A Comment