SLAM!

 (This message was edited by aprildawn on 08-02-05 @ 9:06 am EDT)

"The Living God" 


Quiet, my martyr.
Where is the boy who hides inside
this troubled man?

Who insists on growing a soul
too large for his human vessel?

Come down from your hilltop.
Climb into the valley with me.
We will lie down, hidden in the tall sweet grass,

whimpers lost among the sheep,
black soil streaking your cheek in my thumb print.

This is dying. This is God.
Why spill your blood in the ocean of their need?
Atlas would stumble beneath their cross.

Real praise is in the thunder of the Earth,
here in my belly, my thighs.

I've seen the reflection of the future
mirrored in the eyes of a thousand men,
and all I see is the coil of death.

There is this: Skin beneath wet palms.
Rivulets cleansing a path through the dirt.

Fucking in the whisper of rain falling down,
drowning the cries of Crucify.
A sword of lightning slashes the sky, cuts us in two.

Let this be real.
Let this be real.
Let this be real.