like gnats to blood
and frogs to flies,
and groaning livestock ills
and brutal thunderous kills
oh, i will chase after this dusk
and throw towards heaven’s ear
my dreams written on white rice;
in order for my soul to shine,
and hope that He may hear.
my hardened hearts hurtles
deep against the scorn!
and makes it’s cold dark mark upon
the children’s playing sand:
crying “the meek shall never mourn!”
the sacred tent of placated sighs
slips underneath the blue
and reveals it’s lost holy name
to the darkness of the skies
and declares “we shall never know You!”
oh i will chase after this dusk
to shelter this very shame
that took my redden lips and
ripped against, and tore them twice
lest screams that might have came
like human boils
and locust toils
and the darkness
and the death.
