In your courtrooms and on your dollar bills it says In God we Trust,
but the only god they serve is (G)uns (O)il and (D)rugs.
Peep game, or forever keep being played by the system put in place to play games upon your brain.
It's an energy exchange to gain control, to steal your soul when your spirit's vibrating at an all time low;
so sniff these lines I write to get you high-enough to become aware of the other side.
We always see the bright side of the moon but if you close your eyes and use your intuition then you'll be able to get in tune-
with the owls and the wolves that howl at midnight, and the black ocean waves that rise.
It'll pull you in where the veil is thin, and you'll see beyond the lies of this holographic universe; to get in touch with the great spirit you don't need a church.
There's only one God that lives and sits on the throne, and that's the most high who resides inside of your holy temple.

The first time I said his name, he asked me how I knew him.
I was thrown. I knew him and I knew Kim.
What we've been through -
Your family and I;
I often lay awake at night and toss and turn and sigh.
I felt like taking his head in my hands and saying
"Your brother - he was mine."
But I didn't.

He lives in the house next to my parents.
And knew me until I left. Bereft.
Then he sees me now -
and acts as if he doesn't know me.
Like he hasn't held my hand or cried,
Well that's what's really thrown me.
The tree in your garden. It's planted for him.
With me at the window, watching tiny you and Kim.

We used to sit in that garden, late into the night.
Until everyone was gone, left with nothing but starlight.
Oh, what we've been through -
Your family and I;
To this day I lay in bed and sometimes have a cry.
So I was thrown, to the bone, and feeling so small...
When I realised that in your mind,
- I didn't exist at all.

Your lips were kissed by angels
And your sweet, sweet smile stole the breath from my lungs

Your hand was so soft, yet so unforgiving when it wrapped itself around my neck
You choked the love out of me, strangled the words from my mouth

And I stood there while you did so

The mortuary stopped accepting bodies when it saw what you did to my heart
The coroner no longer wished to see how love could destroy anything

From the smallest, softest, most delicate petal of a flower

To a foolish heart with no more room to do anything but bleed

You are so much more
invested in
domesticated
or non-domesticated
furry friends
then Syrian refugees
who look more
like you and me.

You are so much more
invested in
a piece of multi-colored cloth
that ***** in the wind
a symbol
of an idea
that has not been
fulfilled
then the victims of
drone bombings.

You are so much more
invested in
a barely ancient book
then women’s rights.

You are so much more
invested in
police authority
then those oppressed
for centuries,
those brutalized
incarcerated,
demonized,
enslaved,
and murdered.

You are so much more
invested in
sports and reality shows
then education
and the pursuit of truth.

And here is what
your investments
netted you
apathy, violence,
greed, destruction,
pain, suffering
terror, and the dividends
are still pouring in.

every night, before bed,
a simple ritual: he walks to the foyer
and drags the deacon's bench to the door
to keep intruders at bay

has been this way, since
the day he read "In Cold Blood"
and realized what uninvited guests
can do under a god's watchful eye

the belly of the bench holds every bible  
he has ever owned in his four score years
save the one by his bedside, where it sits as sentinel
against other imagined foes and woes  

though he is long deaf, those
who would defile him can yet hear, and
the righteous moan of the bench on the hardwood
would give them pause

or so the old man believes;
as if a simple sound could be so profound
to tip cosmic scales in his favor, save him
from the tyranny of evil men

this very night, before bed
he takes the same walk, shoves the same  
weighted wood against a locked door,
a simple ritual