Tortured Peace

Silence shrieks within my mind,

sorrow snickers with glee.

I navigate by a starless night,

the signs I see aren’t right.

To change yesterday I must learn from tomorrow.

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Downstairs

Downstairs death stares

electrodes fry her temples

Dr. Freeman taps the ice pick.

Lightning strikes temples of gods long dead

cottontail rabbit diligently digging his hole.

Downstairs death stares

like lilies of the field

scorched by the late summer sun

the Son commends His spirit

neath the cheering of the bloodthirsty throng.

Downstairs death stares

waves of horsemen and archers under one flag exact revenge on waves of horsemen and archers under another

all ignoring the nagging truth:

If compassion be honest, no sin remains.

Downstairs death stares

but what about up above?

With a vacant stare He looks down there

like a puzzled mechanic under a hood

and God saw that it was good.