liberty’s wildfire…

once the glow
from her lamp
offered
the warmth
of hope
for
freedom
and
sanctuary
from
the flames
of
religious persecution
but
now
it has
a garish glow

having found a stone in my shoe…

having-found-a-stone-in-my-shoe

i’ve begun
to wonder
if hate
does not
permanently
dye
the soul
the color
of
dried blood
our
words
of forgiveness
to those
who’ve
wronged
us
are
but
pilate washing
his hands
all the while
a thin veil
of flesh
conceals
what lies
within
a darkness
that
spews
from our lips
gaseous words
of venom
when
passing
troubadours
wishing
only
to write
songs
of enlightenment
press
too tightly
upon
the fragile flesh
of
our
beliefs
and
fears
thus revealing
that
inert
element
hidden
in our souls

daily routine…

copyright 2012 cwmartin

she gathers up
plastic bottles
along the roadside
no place for her pride
to hide
talks to herself
conversations
presented aloud
a voice in the crowd
so proud
she ignores stares
social judgments
rendered by the blind
who refuse to find
words kind
she’s all alone
on crowded streets
carting around bags
full of life’s old rags
hope sags
she turns quickly
her alleyway
finds a place to sleep
then begins to weep
fear’s weep