They laugh meat out from between
their bloodied teeth,
and leave us to ponder this cliche;
"Hell is on earth."

Every day I sit in an ivory tower,
and press my pen to decadence;
live a life of ease.
Few sufferings.

When the ones who deserve what I have
come back to take it,
I will not fight.
I will ponder
new cliches;

"Hell is trying to leave earth,
and we stand firmly in the way."

After I’ve accomplished
my duties of this day,
I still don’t deserve
Your goodness and sway

of Your Spirit in me.
Quiet peace in my heart,
reminds me that I’m…
your servant, imparted

with the grace of being
cherished as Your child;
with Your Presence, I’m
spiritually beguiled.

To speak with You daily,
is a privilege of prayer;
our conversations show me
the depths… of Your care.
.
.
.
Author notes

Inspired by:
Luke 17:7-10

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.

Jesus came wrapped in paper and coated in tape
Saw the sender and fell to my knees
Felt my body sink right through the earth
Felt time reverse

Was a child crying beneath the bridge
Watched his mother and father pulled to the sea
Stopped for a moment before pretending
I didn’t see a ******* thing

Should have opened my heart long ago
******* wasted on my own problems

I crawled through service
I collapsed at the grave

Can’t shake the sweat from my tips
Can’t wash the guilt from my sheets
What the hell happened to me?
What the hell happened?

Hey you up there!
Flying around in your underwear
I know you’re busy
Saving the world and stuff
but I gotta tell ya
It ain’t enough.
Yes, you can jump buildings
In a single bound
But we really need you
Here on the ground.
Just look around, man.
I don’t understand
How you came to be
But defying gravity
Is not something most folks can do
And unlike you
We can’t stop a bullet
With a mullet and a Mountain Dew.
So you might as well come on down
And help us move some **** around
Cause we got a lot of work to do
And we could use a guy like you.
Or two.

The cold metal of a silver spoon
Leaves stale memoriesin my mouth
Never had the taste of luck
Nor privilege that blesses few.

Underrated, judged and boxed in
Beaten by myself, along with societies glares
Dare to escape, to fight
The cornered beast flashes fangs

Claiming a cocky egomaniac
Through blinds eyes and deaf ears.
Rise and die for a 1000 days.
Tremors of tears on the fringe
Of empty yet focused demeanor.

Never apologizing for monster
That reflects from success.

People always say "Remember when we were kids..." And that's when I always space out, turn my attention to something else & avoid those memories.
Every time I look back to my childhood & my younger days ,I see some child that made my life worse than theirs, made my cuts deeper & now they're an adult trying to befriend me.
My Parents worked hard to put nutrients in my flesh, faith in my soul, & hope in my spirit rather than material on my skin.
Due to my absence of expensive earthly things they were brainwashed to cherish they treated me as if I had different feelings, different joys, different emotions within.
I remember I would hate being early to school because that was free time for privileged kids, free time for them to talk about my free things. My hand me downs and cheap garments from the flee store.
I'm a God loving Christian, and I don't look down on anyone I just think it's ironic how I turned out to be more.
Or is it ironic at all, I think not, karma is God's general and what you put out is what you will receive in the world.
You put out pain you get pain, spread Love and you get love, if you pass on a Cinnabon you can be sure as hell one day at your door there it is, back in full circle, a cinnamon Swirl.
So today as i look back on those kids that put a microscope on my un-athletic abilities, worn down clothing, and lack of attractiveness, I wish them well & greet them with smiles.
They've grown up to be with other kids that saw only the cover of someone and not the person, they've started families with two parents who don't understand the true value of a spirit & I just pray that characteristic isn't passed on to that beautiful child.

"Grateful Pain" -Dash Pinder

Your bed is gone
Your dresses along
With every hint of you,
No visuals, but
Memory is scent to me
It's in vibrations
Caught trapped in the walls
And ceiling, singing back to me
To hear and smell you present
Remains a privilege that I'll
Only return to dirt or air
If I wind up burned to ashes
Rather than interred and even
Then, logic could
Not prevent me
Proof could
Not convince me
That the height of the fence we climbed
Could fall to dust in the darkness
Just fall apart in dark just out of view
Deprive endlessness of you

Why am I called "white"?
Why am I an absence of color
To be associated with purity
Flawless innocence
A clean slate

Why am I called "white"
When I have the blood of monsters in my veins
There is nothing immaculate about my heritage
Simply from a lack of pigmentation
My hair is braided with the ******* of masses
My eyes see the broken lives of the oppressed
My ears hear the echoes of homelands invaded
And my hands hold the books with the historic lies enclosed

Why am I called "white"
Compared, as if, to the paper
On which my people's crimes could be written
Repeating so frequently with so many new victims
But we are never called to justice
And the cycle remains unbroken
When we are addressed
We stand up from our thrones, screaming
"Unfair, cruel, why attack me?!
I don't understand, what privilege do you see?!"
We act like the victims, fed by the system
And we eat it up with our metaphoric silver spoons

Why am I called "white"
I've been stained from the years of hatred
Perpetuated by a people who claim guiltlessness
Just because they are a newer generation
What was once called subjugation
Is now appropriation
But both are used to deny culture and rights from nations
But I won't sit by and prolong this delusion that we are any better
Any more beautiful then any other one of God's creations

Dear Future son,

When you open your little eyes for the first time
and look around at this great big place you will know
your privilege for the first time. I do not say this
as it is a bad thing, but I do not want you to forget.

When you are older you will say that this system is beautiful
they will shake their heads and tell you that this system is white.
This system was built for you upon their bones.
This is not a fault of yours, but you, you are American privilege.

When you become a man and walk down the street
you will not feel the urge to look behind you.
When they call your name you will not feel
fear brewing inside of your stomach; this is your privilege.

When the masses gather at your doorstep and
call for you to come and march with them
do not be afraid to hold their hands and stand beside them.
Let your voice raise to the heavens and merge with theirs.

Though do not think for a moment that this story is about you.
This story is old, has been told long before you.
The roots of your family tree do not grow here in this garden.
This is foreign ground, tread lightly here.

It is okay to feel proud when you stand beside your brothers and sisters.
Do not forget though, when you go home you can take off your armor
shed it like a second pair of skin, but remember that some people
only ever get one set of skin and some armor does not slip off.

You, like I, will go home to the children and drift off to sleep.
We dream and do not wake to worry about those we call family
we will never have to bear this burden.
This, this is our American privilege.