I'm sorry God, but they've taken you prisoner.

Their words indubitably once streamed from your lips,
as your fingers projected beams of light,
falling from the Heavens:
people dumbly read your signs so literally.

They've closed you in a book and recalled your name
when such mentioning benefited their own name,
hypocrites they are;
for there was never a hypoChrist
capable of making wine a commodity
and bread a demon,
unless it is gluten-free.

How your intentions are clouded in veils.
****** in your name.
To glorify you.
Pushing scared young lovers--two men-- against barbed wire fences
and insisting they are sinful, foul--better off dead.
Maybe the hate is right
because it wins ten times out of nine.

God, they constantly judge each other
when they don't believe in the "right" version of you.
And they represent a new hipper you for the youth:
they want to understand you, when really they just
want to be understood.

Some days I walk past strangers and wonder,
"Who do you want me to be?"
Am I not Muslim enough unless I cover my hair?
Am I too Moz-lim if I say Allah and mean God--
just God, not whatever inane misnomer you'll tell me I really believe
you to be.

I think you tire of our piddle paddle,
how we puff up our chests, only to blow out a tiny breath of air,
that in one instant you can extinguish:
the candle had no choice.

We think we give the world meaning.
We feel so special when we hear ourselves think,
but sometimes, I wish you'd speak instead of all these false prophets.

Those endorphic nights,
wrapped like snakes,
Shared blood in one soul,
we made our promise, carved it in stone,
now it just cuts me down to the bone.

Played our end game, created the path,
‘mongst the spirits, grasping rain,
midnight tears so cold and alone,
It will always cut me down to the bone.


© H V Swan

Atiquity are etched in lime granite
Telling non fable tales of blood
Flooding over the rivers of Jordan
to the deep rivers of Hudson
You could hear them in all four
Corners of the earth were inprinted
Valumes in there voices broke
Cracked like glass now there is silence
When the time came for refuge
The night was cool as hope was here

Still......

Settling with what is now

Still......

The war for change is still
being faught for.

(INCREDIBLE INK- TEAM JAGUAR HAWAII)
© 2014 S.T. Rebel of Eden

He drew tears out from
my eyes today
and the threads of my jeans got dark

So I wrinkled my jeans out
in parallel

              free...

just so I avoid the force
a plunge to my face when he
felt compelled

... answers that could not be
bought to his senses
it was lost
I love him madly
yet his paw had crossed me

...and all I could do was sit
there and know better, but -

yet-

I am not a bird that can fly
out an open window
to anywhere but here.
    
© S.T. Parish Rebel of Eden