I believed you the first time (Poem)

 

ian-espinosa-248318

 

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.

 

This pitiless place (Poem)

So much static
and hands pulling in every direction
lamenting voices raised in discontent and anger
I can’t hear above the din

Oh, God, but let me hear your voice
the twisted gunmetal fears I cry are rusting against my face
they drop with clinking noises at my feet
cause me to slip and stumble along body strewn floors

My mouth is dripping with the words people put in
like black ink it runs down my chin
as I stumble through the tunnel of the wretched living dead
clawing and scrambling and demanding
I gag.

We’re married now. We’re free now
but they can’t or won’t let go.
Like heroin – anger seeps into their veins and turns
day to night as they wander in their fugue state
as their souls rot in the cage they built while they’re drunk with the taste of their own tears.

Dancing forever in a masquerade
paper faces cover grimaces this mindless parade
where a flower’s tender petals are crushed under self-righteous heels
they’re killing their hope – perfectly imperfect hope
and with every death, there is less and less oxygen
for people to breathe

There is no god here
only devils with garish dresses and good intentions
murdering the daylight while lamenting the dark
only fools burning up with a fever of infected minds
mindless, mindless, “off with her head!”
they chant – and another flower dies

It’s getting harder to breathe. I cover my ears as they cheer
as they joyfully shout for their own demise
As they strip beauty down with twisted arthritic fingers In this pitiless place. This tragic kingdom where the desperate damned damn themselves.