Let my Words be Sweat

Forgive me ere I speak
In the climax of this aged day
Where words, in pitchfork
And promenade,
Became our toil under the sun
Gaunt spines, elbows, wrists
Unable to carve our food from earth
Feed on words in disproportionate ratio
Fallow work undone as
Our pastors become our politicians
Our politicians become our soft warriors
And only standing soldiers

Forgive me as I speak
Seeking comfort in the din
Sermons, news, campaigns:
Prattle meant to prod.
Ages it has been while we’ve cloned
Organizations off Your organism
Tight control groups
Limiting variables
So we may grow in a petri dish
The purest sample
But the bystander effect
Corrupts it all

Forgive me all that I have said
These years of arrogance and mimicry
If any words were useful
Yours may they ever be
If You will have them-
Oh, this noisy clanging!
We have been well-conditioned
For the culture we have made
Our comfortable experiments
Outlived their isolated caves
Our Frankensteinian clones
Rage against the day

And even now,
They are still our precious babies
To the grave.

About viewingcamelot

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