ode to the doormat

four right angles
bristly fibre scratches finely-moisturized
hands of its holder
putting in place plainness — just so
no majesty to attract
an emblazoned message
largely ignored

well-travelled receiver of all
that we do
not want

slushy, salty mess
emulsion of expelled emotions
that will slowly erode
the tarnished tendrils
of our lives

the stubborn mud
stuck between the crevices in our souls
(makes us feel ugly)
threatening to tarnish
our precisely-polished exterior

the flurry of rain drops
sliding down our being
desperately trying 
to find a foothold
weighing us down

our peace its punishment
it all comes off
through the selflessness of this 
one who is 
always
there

oh, what generosity!
yes 
a life of hiddenness
familiar with pain
given for all to see

...is this what it means to love my enemies

Written by Scott Moore
Illustrated by Landon Wideman

Inspired February 2020