The time had come for leaving;
except I was already where I wanted to be
I could not understand sands,
that stood apart from the sea
A landing of sorts
or the door to what some may believe
It served little purpose,
for those who could not conceive

Without a sign post
and someone who could read;
they could only guess as to why,
the poem would no longer bleed;
the truth was stronger than honesty
as ignorance had already agreed,
what more could it possibly know
except which farmer favored his seed

Within rocks that move
and those that wither beneath our homes;
voices that cannot be heard
are as sturdy but forgotten as buried bones;
but those who dare speak
place their trust inside back-stabbing phones
for they have fallen from crosses
where nails welcome only God’s to their tombs