The thing about being an artist.

People only look at the finished work.

Not at the soiled hands which made it.

i am tired of asking for help
for now ill let myself wallow
in the water i have soiled
because i know that
this time ive done what i can
to float through to the other side

i dont want anyone else to ruin their
cloths trying to drag me out

.

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.

.