Muffled/Grace/Praise

Like a boy baptized in rage

blood boiling, ears ringing with

the sounds of war drums banging,

I was submerged in a river

of sweltering spittle, a river

I mistook for Hell, disguised

within the meadow, where

the blindfolded righteous

laugh it up with cognate voices.

-

Here, in the field lit

by gunfire, the bullets

write braille on the wall,

legible by deaf and blind,

a litany of blame borne

by bloody hands of convicts

crying "mercy!" through the lips

of lawyers brandishing

blades in the name of grace.

-

But in this battlefield

the shouts of sinner

and saved meld together

like lustful pillars of flame,

eager to burn through the fuse,

the hissing fire oft too loud

for the unarmed whispers

of a tear-stained

hallelujah.

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To Fill

Falling in Lust