and old heretics
rarely breed at all…
where are we now?
if our addictions
to our religions cause…
division, hatred, prejudice,
inequalities, and wars…
maybe we need to look
at what we believe!
i am so sick of
racial slurs, sexual slurs,
and ignorant fears…
i could vomit!
freedom…
inclusive,
not exclusive!
spiritual…
compassionate,
not judgmental!
enough said!
Similar Posts
the wind called…
down hard edged streets,past the abandoned and forsaken…through dirt and filth,grime, grease, and soot.down past the edge of town…i made camp by the tracks.haunted by the soundsof living now just echoes,echoes and shadows,shadows almost forgotten.haunted by the faces,the dreams, the fires now ash…the smell of need andthe harsh stench of hunger.i made a leanto from…
kiss me!
the taste of my flesh…with lips that quiver,sucking light from shadow.undressing slowlyin sync with the earth,the softest flutterof touch ignites!take me!like tides hug the shore,mountains tremble,and winter trees shout!the pulse of my passionsurging deep, long, and strong.till you break the stormlike a twig neath your feet.swallow me!till i am no more,my body a sacrificeleft at…
shots ring out,
street grinders turn,the gates of hell.we push and shout,we take and drive,aint nobodygonna get out alive.the price of life,nickels and dimes.faceless souls,redeem the time.the weight of skin,and rusted chains.take a pillto numb the pain.life gone crazy,life gone mad.what they haveis what you had.who do you own,who owns you?what can you say,what can you do?fathers bury…
Darkness and light, wrong and right
paper and smoke, churn and strokeprayers drip like sweat, slavery and debtWhite trash fires, unholy liarstruth falls off the edge, desire walks the ledgepolitical drugs, who picks the judgehammers of fear, moments lost to yearsGraves open and close, nuclear roseblack shadows turn, pages crumple and burnlightning or gunfire, stakes higher and higherdeath clock chimes, wind…
you smell like skin,
the ball in the glove,the hammer strikes the nail.and i know about fire,love cries and hot wetness.the frenzied clutch of fingers,the gasp and the tremor.the old wood stove,in the corner radiates,you feed it logs,split by time’s axe.till drunk with sleep,both dreamless and forgotten.you turn your backto a final wisp of smoke…i am that smoke!