a dark shroud 

of gloom 

covers him.

his past eats 

away inside

clanging words 

of redemption

that fly from lips 

like hope made 

of tin cans.

noisy, shrieking

like the clamor

of a lamb


a money tree, 

his fanatical dream,

the truth 

is masked 

in paper bills

with smiling faces

but none belong

to your jesus.

promises clenched 

in bloody fists

from former years,

lies loom 

and seal doom.


only happens

in the mind

like phrenic
© 2013 8:46 AM 8/1/2013
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