Your churches, your prayers your faith Rips away at the skin and foundation like a crown of thorns
Your horror, your lies stab at the unjust and nonnormal according to your book, slicing through like a rusted hook
You dress up and confess your sins while souls on the street fight maggots to eat
And those enlightened to see another light are ridiculed by your spite
The moon guides us away from your book and opens light in which we find mothers around us. As you force others to seek you, we see nature
We choose to look away towards the light in the night sky as we wander towards our light. For we are not lost.
Like the pounding of the nails on the hardened wood of the crucifix, the minute hand pounds away, enslaving us to time frames as cruel sister time mocks our cries for freedom
An
