.

Bloomed in a chasm of faith -
Life-deep, bereft of touch -
Where mass spoken seeds of grace
Morphed misanthropic and vile;
Splintered roots grow
Crooked - inwards - under laws
Force-fed and born from chaos.

Righteous hands - drenched in black -
Reaching to tear homes from
Homes and return the bones to
The hole from which this started;
Sticky fingers reaping lands
In what was said to be  
The name of God or just revenge.

No falsehood lies in belief as
One from one can cast their judgement
Born of love and greed and hate and pity
But faith takes the softest targets;
Detaching fear and hope and innocence
From names; bleeding all  
Into the earth to feed the bloom.

.

A seat at the precipice -
Stained and rusted -
Weathered by decaying leaves
Fallen inside the boundaries;

A caste to live within,
Without tight-knotted
Morals on wrists -
A place of slow progress

And little growth
To foster little changes
Meant to brace a wall
Built of shortened breaths.

.

Blurred hibiscus
Sit alongside the
Bravest boy in
New York but
Offer nothing of
The judgement
He feels in his heart.

Sitting on the
Red brick steps
Of a porch which
Opens to the world
He pours himself
Through the focused
Lens of a life changer.

.