by Delaney Geppert
Head bowed, mouth shut, eyes closed as if it would help.
Acting as though it'd all make sudden sense again;
But who are we kidding, who am I kidding, "I need help,"
Or so says the traveling salesman lurking, looking to drain
Handing me the word, His word, that can - no, will stop all my pain -
Or better yet, the unrelenting reality of our existence here:
Where we soak in our sins and bask in our permanent man-made stain
Alongside those with little black books are those with soil, the tomb, patiently waiting, just far enough beneath our feet for the worms to make us disappear.
Someday I'd like to believe, truly believe, beyond the prayer, beyond the liar,
Beyond the hardened souls being lifelessly decomposed from holy ghosts.
Embalmed in the empty word of men too weak to control heinous desires,
Preaching the word, praying their truth for us to obediently devour as our host
Opening our mouths for the taste, our hearts for the lies, and our mind for the status.
A cross embedded in our mouth, our heart, and our mind
Banning us further, making you and I less of an us
And yet I still believe beyond the word, beyond Him, beyond Them, beyond It, beyond it all to put my faith in blind mankind.