Poem

Someday They Will Fall

I’ve bruised my hands and their knuckles looking for truth;

Underneath carpets, and rugs; I moved the table and the booth;

These desperate times are always desperate, Babylon;

When you fall Sodom is Sodom and sodomy has nothing to do with your fall, oh Babylon-

It is a fault your own, a Gomorrah of truth hidden underneath your table, booth, and throne.

The evil-doer’s do not know they’re evil, this truth I have learned;

For they see no good, or good to them is their money, their orgasms, and fame.

I look for the other good; the one unnamed and only known by the good;

A truth such as this must be experienced to be known; through mind alone-

It is no good, not truth.

My own place and time has healed my knuckles, now the bruise is purple-

I look at the sky and do not fear I shall die, I simply know things happen-

For the young, the old, and to those who have heard truth but have not experienced its hold;

I am bold, and walking from hospital to bed to shed;

Those hands will be flesh, the bruises healed-

And the truth made real-

Oh Babylon, do fall-it is the holy deal.

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