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- Shackled and fettered in chains
- Sacrificed body and brains
- Hooked up straight into my vein
- Labour gets sucked down the drain
- Only for capital gain
- Ignoring my illness and pain
- Begging and pleading in vain
- Silenced each time I complain
- Speak up considered profane
- Hours each day on the train
- Ever extinguishing flame
- My number is now my new name
- Whispers in secret start swayin’
- Conspirators also are sayin’
- All of us no longer playin’
- Time for the head to start payin’
- Together our voices outweighin’
- As long as we’re standin’ and stayin’
- Our message more strongly conveyin’
- Power and strength we’re displayin’
- This isn’t pretend we’re portrayin’
- No longer on us are they preyin’
- Instead, they are cowerin’, prayin’
- The shackles and fetters decayin’
- A fraying thread now fading red knitting my heart splitting apart.
- A crimson rag I glisten tag the lonely tears that hold my fears.
- A tattered shawl in battered brawl comforts my back from hurt and crack,
- It flood with red from blood I shed, my weighted yoke, deflated, broke.
- A scarlet rope ‘round scar-red hope to bind a hole in mind and soul.
- A ruddy pin so bloody thin securing pain, injured again.
- A cherry cloth, it nary doth erase away the basest ache.
- And here I sit so counterfeit with polished skin but mauled within.
- Towering trees all veiled with leaves, hanging from the sky
- Calming seas with salty breeze in the desert dry
- Starry light so dimly bright shining through the ground
- Chicken flight of soaring height to the prairies bound
- Blazing fire and climbing higher fuelled by frosty ice
- Reaching spire up from the mire, and pearls of little price
- Oil wipe with water swipe, while darkening of soul
- Black and white midst greying stripes, widening the hole.
- Frozen in the doorway separating dark and light
- There before my wondering eyes a most intriguing sight
- Centaur in mid gallop, on its back was found a clock
- It’d stopped its steady ticking and had silenced every tock
- Stuck at stroke of midnight—or maybe it was noon.
- Never really certain whether it was sun or moon
- Lighting up the hallway where this human–horse had flown.
- Should I keep familiar or push off into unknown?
- Cradled by my fingers, this awkward chunk of stone,
- Sharp and jagged edges hiding shapes unknown.
- Inside there’s potential, whispering as urge.
- Time and slow precision cause vision to emerge.
- Careful chipping silence reveals what’s ’neath the face.
- Water polished finish marks the resting place.
- Standing now before me—none before had stood;
- Pleased with this new story, I declare it good.
Listen
- Into the dark of the depths
- Sapping and draining my breath
- Diving away from the light
- Vanish from surface’s sight
- Alone in my silent descent
- Away from the cries of repent
- But there at the bottom so still
- A new light my empty soul fill
Listen
- Hanging up on a cross;
- Dripping from toes, my dross.
- Buried in waters of dust,
- Chipping away at crust.
- Breathing on me, a dove
- Sent from the moon above.
- Tending fin, wing, and claw.
- Eating good fruit I saw;
- Nibbling on blood and brain.
- Riding on wheel of pain.
- Farming thorns from the brink,
- Wanting for crumb and drink.
Listen
- Complexity perplexes thee; simplicity, it vexes me.
- Eliciting complicitly abandonment so recklessly.
- Inadequate, inanimate, and sorely not compassionate.
- So poorly though, thought lordly though, soul-infecting contaminant.
- Sufficiently inhibiting the visiting of ministry.
- A symphony of imagery: your bigotry so vicious, see?
- Efficiently prohibiting the limits of soliciting.
- Not riveting, just dwindling and dulling of my glistening.
- Wisdom in each heartbeat pulsing through my veins
- Mending every sorrow, comforting each pain.
- Wisdom in each blood drop healed by Mother’s kiss,
- Or her tear, or stroking, or her embraced bliss
- Wisdom in each longing reaching from my chest,
- Passing through the vastness, to her ear to rest.
- Wisdom in each flushing—flustered, nervous, shy—
- Hand upon my shoulder tells me she is nigh.
- Temples made of glass are buried in the ground
- Churches made of clay where cornerstones are found
- Porcelain scriptures are holding up the arch
- Splintering tokens are moulding frail the heart
- Shattered spectacles, kaleidoscope of truth
- Rusty microscope shapes confidence of youth
- Mirror cracked and chipped reflecting state of mind
- Standing on the spire is where you might me find.
