The earth knows
no religion...
My mother cried
when I was a child...
There is no warmth nor light nor sound
as I lay here, trussed up and bound...
some times she would mumble
some say it was jumble...
His name is Satan
feeding of goodhearted souls...
They found him,
hanging...
Growing up in a small town
you get used to seeing others...
I scrub and scrub
but still the blood pours down...
I whisk away the dreams of days
gone far beyond my grasp...
This morning I was questioned about a golden cross...
Dangling from a silver laced chain loosely necked...
If only I was able to smell
the lies that people tell...
Negotiating
Ones own...