By: Gus Victoria
The prophet speaks of fire and brimstone,
The tongue lashes the sinner’s soul
And shame is the mantle thrown
On a life unknown.
Yours a gentle hand in love extended
Embracing the thief,
Consoling the whore,
Counseling the heathen,
Yours a gentle heart is love expressed
In The Creation,
Not The Fall,
In the Wind
That moves the waters
That carve the mountains
That proclaim together
A humble majesty
Sublime in scope,
Unsurpassed in beauty.
Your prophets war
And your poets weep,
Your children murder
In your many names,
Your children search
Your many homes,
To proclaim a throne
And use in your name
The authority they give themselves
...and I weep.
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