these are not my emotions this anger and fear is older than my years upon this earth it is the taste of dried blood and the dust of those once enslaved freed by death to wander with whatever winds reach into soul to reanimate their words so their sorrow and stories can be retold these are not my words so expect no apologies or absolution of social sins the dead cannot make such offerings to the living they can only recall the sins you’ve lived and the pain you’ve bestowed
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
there were oceans of dreams spilling over my youthful hours hours spent naively blind to to my own history and constrained beliefs that social propaganda applied to my thinking webs of lies spun into history books and daily routines webs of deceit molded into invisible leg irons lighter than air so we wearers were unaware of their presence but they have been far more confining than those cast of iron for if one controls the soul then there is no escape
after so much dialogue about prayer this past week i was wondering what aunt bea thought about all this public combat on religious observances so i stopped by on my way home from work she said public prayer lets folks know you have something in common with them or serves as a how great i art vulgar marketing ploy but private prayer lets you have an uninterrupted conversation with the divine it makes folks feel better to have expressed what is already known one thing’s for sure prayer for power is not the same as the power of prayer
did you know that blood on cold pavement exhales a mist as if a soul is departing the scene sears into the mind like acid unforgettable no matter how hard you try that body that soul lies before you on black pavement as you await the ambulance it’s in those moments that death becomes real altering the course of your thoughts on the permanency of anything
