h1

random poem

September 13, 2006

With the brilliance that is gold
And a bitter tasting tounge
You beat his head into the ground
And claim what god to you bestowed.
With that flame behind your eyes,
You take and take and take and take
On the constant quest for more,
You eat a starving child’s meal.

Is this the world of which we are born?
All calloused, rotten and hard?
I try and try and try to walk in love,
But I am not entirely sure what that means.

Rhythms and patterns, zeros and ones,
You became flesh and showed what is love,
Anguish unsaid, Debts unpaid.
You made the wine and we drank your blood.

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