There is an anger inside of me
an anger cultivated from seeing the world through your eyes
the seeds of this understanding in fields once plowed
by the merciless and unyielding force of religion’s myopic blade
having once been allowed to fallow
as the fruit had grown bitter on the vine
this ground is now once again turned over and replanted
in this season of humanity’s discontent
I know you by the fruits of your labor
having once bore the weight of your harvests’ yield
I know the saccharine words you speak are laudanum laced
which heals as a whip renders flesh across the back heals
and comforts as salt comforts though generously applied
Evil is the man who says bad is good
and bad is made all the worse when done in the name of God
and that God’s hand is turned to a cloven hoof that tramples
lives and destroys families and ignores the pain of others
whistling while you work, while you plow your fields,
hymns and psalms with anger in your eyes
Yet I am the rock in the way of your blade
that kicks up and smacks against your mouth
I’ll be the clod that dulls the steel, the hole in the ground that lames your beast
for as inevitable as you might be, though you have names that cause men to tremble in marketplaces where you trade
I am the fruit that you created – and the irony of in the demise of your efforts
For I have been poisoned and carry that weight with me
in the truth of who you are that rests between my ears
I know that one with God still constitutes a majority
and though you can’t even begin to articulate my little finger. nor do you have the power to cause one hair to grow on my head
I know everything and everyone and exactly what you are
over and over you showed me and in your haughtiness you told me
and I – biding my time – waiting for my moment –
believed every word and deed – believed it all
the first time.