A Poem

Wholly Holy

Beware the stare of eyes turned outward

toward distant unlit shores.

Utopia beckons safe harbor

the rhinestone glare of welcome.

It is an illusion, a warm blanket

in the midst of  a howling storm;

a slap, a stinging salutation

in disguise as morning light,

the fixed unwavering gaze

of anger costumed as God.

What cost the dream of narrow road?

The cliffs will always push and pull.

But smiles’ gold coated lies must

have their way to scream that

RIGHT will always punish wrong;

the strong must trample weak.

Along this path, I stumble

face first into my self made mire

coagulating streams of honest hard earned

blood, once flowing unimpeded

now searching for my own open door

to walk away from glares that wish me dead.

I will not die today.

So sorry.