I cling to my life,
though I desire open hands.
Take my will from my hands,
peel my fingers gently open
if you must, and lay it on the rock
to be broken. The rock
where One before me knelt
and broke himself upon it,
leaving blood, a silent witness
of the cosmic fight and the
death of One man’s rights.

One was led silently to his
slaughter, to the death of his
Deity. And must I be dragged
kicking and screaming to watch
a comfort crucified?


IMG_9156-2.jpgEthan Eshleman is excited that he gets to marry the girl he loves, he thrives on action, is partially introverted and he attempts to express feelings, longings, and experiences by writing poetry.


Photography by Kenneth Godoy