small seeds of life’s fortune…

penny found on street
a lost soul without a home
deemed worthless by most
no one bends to pick it up
life’s true fortune cast aside

 

barabbas …

murderous traitor
count the dead in this nation
how can anyone
that claims that there is a god
crucify the innocent
instead of the beast
do they long to bathe in blood
that of our children
or of those too poor to beg
for their god’s mercy
are silver coins of greed’s realm
worth denying sacred words
will the holy bed
be soiled with the putrid
lies of one man’s lust
or will the faithful remove
each bloody nail from faith’s hands

 

departure…

canopy
conceals
the stars and moon
darkness
shrouds the source
of
sounds
in
a veil
of
fear
sounds
come from
all
directions
none louder
than
the boy’s
pounding heart
as
shallow breaths
join
the chorus
of
fear
suddenly
strong scents
fill
his nostrils
it’s like
an approaching death
pulse
quickens
he
lowers his body
to
the ground
becoming one
with
the earth
then
a torch
is lite
he is encircled
by
his elders
bapa dola
speaks
saying
each hunter
must have empathy
for
their prey
the taking
of
life
for survival
means
the end
of
survival
for
another
so
should be done
with
respect
and
understanding
of
the prey’s fear
a fire
was lit
and
the elders
brought forth
nature’s offerings
for
a boy
was now
a man

 

it’s all about timing…

the pastor
swayed
to
the music
from
the youth choir
smiling broadly
as
he opened
the bible
and
read
a verse
about
the true meaning
of
forgiveness
to which
deacon jones
exclaimed
amen
while
staring
at
a frowning
sister jones
in
the front row

 

not that it’s my business…

tell me
mister christian
if
it were your
wife
daughter
or
child
groped
and
raped
by
the president
would
you
be
as forgiving
as
you’ve
been
so far
freely
supporting
the evil
that’s been
done
to others

 

while you were waiting…

i’ve noticed
that
you’ve
begun
to talk
to
shadows
and
wait
quietly
for
their reply
one
that never comes
but
still
you wait
like
some marble monument
depicting
an unknown saint
slain
in
the service
of
an unknown god
i
suspect
that
you
do not see
the
encroaching darkness
nor
understand
the perils
of
your compromising
you’re
too engrossed
in
your dreams
of
power
to
see
or
hear
death’s proclamation
i
claim
your
soul
for serving
the
god
apate

 

future paradise…

an unsigned contract
you’ve religiously followed
expecting rewards
but the life that you’ve wasted
may have been the true reward

 

go ahead and drink the kool-aid…

©2019 Charles Wm Martin

you sing
hallelujah
from
oaken pews
each
sunday
joining
the choir’s
exaltations
to
the endless void
of
death
never questioning
the promise
of
mercy
for
all sins
but
what of those
of
omission
children
left homeless
and
affection starved
victims
of
war
and
political egos
stripped naked
of
humanity
left
without
the shroud
of
dignity
and
in your chosen blindness
you pray
for
souls
that you shun
each day
of
the week
crossing streets
to
avoid
exposing your sins
those
crosses
you chose
not
to bear

 

behavioral modification…

the names
of
their true
gods
adorn
their bumper stickers
embossed
with
their
mindless mantras
those
carefully contrived
scriptures
from
an ad agency
after being
thoroughly
researched
by
behavioral scientists
and
predicted
to be
on par
with
the gospel
convincing
even
saints
to vote
for
the devil