Birds sing far away,
tearful abundance hushing
our inner protest: hurry.
Every day, we are taught
how to die wrongly.
Sin brings us kneeling,
rain falling immovably
& we cry, perfection is the touch of death disguised.
I won’t lie-I try to perfect myself as society sees fit.
Do whatever anyone tells you.
happiness is found in earnings,
savings, ladder climbing & artificiality.
We lose love in exchange for lies soon to pass away-
we marvel at the stones we refuse to let anyone else carry,
independence is a sign of victory,
or so they say.
Spirituality won’t save you if results aren’t seen in a day.
A man who’s dead can’t be real if He’s unseen.
You can’t find joy if your hands aren’t full of tangible.
If Jesus sacrificed himself,
why does the idea of continuous
destruction of truth simply delight us?
We’d rather be sheep.