Backlash
Facing shallow holes in my ideaology
Forcing down bitter herbs at dusk,
My hands still reek of blood
Leaving everything where it stands
Loins in order and staff in hand
I run away
Fleeting feeling of freedom found false
Embraced yet embarassed of my ignorance
Walls of brine and the taste of bread
Have long yeilded to the mountains of sand
In this wilderness that I have created
The wind claims me with her gashes
This dry viper has swallowed my sanity
Gone are the reeds
Gone is the smell of mud bricks and leather whips
Replaced only by powder that thickens
In my lascerations
I long for the grapes
Not plump with wrath but the nectar
Of blessing and
Of covenant
But we have chosen our meal this day
Chosen to gorge ourselves on the dust of the earth
But our doubt and pride destroy far more than the Sun
Without rest
We drowned while we rembembered the rain
Yet, could not remember diving into this sea