the Saints are walking in the Holy Parade
playing the music we hear
whispering and singing and shouting and screams
within our dreams
wanna play ?
charades is the game of choice
in this game we call life
i pick up the blade, the knife
i attempt to consciously disengage
my consciousness . . .
the Spider Web of Doctrines and Beliefs
and the Foods of my Ancestors . . .
have i overeaten ?
they do say you are what you eat
but . . .
what was in that Casserole ?
my stomach hurts mommy
here she says . . .
take another pill
it will be all right in a little while
i trusted her
i trusted in the intentional goodness
and i am now contentionally weeping
in my soul
as i evolve
the next day i fell
i skinned the knees of my divine self
they gave me a Band-Aid and some orange stinging liquid
that shit hurt !
must we be pained to heal ?
yet i am still bleeding
and the blood pours forth every day
by now i should be dead
for i have been bleeding it seems
since the beginning of time
my hands have been pierced in the palms
i can no longer grasp any truth
or any thing else for that matter
yes, i too bear a cross
upon which many times over i have been nailed
i look down from my perch of forsaken-ness
and i see yet still
the Saints Walk By