lapse into gentle silence,
those fraudulent fabrications
that twist into violence
and disappear
have dragged tear by tear
down my cheek registered fear
among all but the meak
the brave, they say, is
the true slave
to fantasy... but I
pledge myself to anonymity
suffering gently these
sweet thorns that are
born from trying too hard
from crying too loud
aching and waking and forsaking
the crowds
sweet appraisal,
the damsel is silent, in distress
underdressed in her amnesty
this distant hypocrisy
forgets me
and I swerve to define this
line of my observations
this truth of my inner nation
proclaiming itself to be
free mired in mud
transpired in blood
higher than the seers
who predicted the flood
babble on...sweet priest
decieve the ignorant on the streets
of Babylon
anoint your tampon and slide
in to plug up
the slut of your ideology
to stop the flow
of connection of energy
from the heart of God
to the god of earth
whom whispers secrets
in the form of birth.