IT’S POETIC JUSTICE, UNTIL WE ALL LOSE OUR EYES

     My story is so nearly relevant, 
     I forget and roll my eyes.

     Devil in savior’s clothes.
     Chooses strong women to destroy.
     Feeds his need for power, not so much to enjoy.
{climax}

     his ego & impatient impulses
     blind him.  his triangulated
     pitted fruits gather, with
     selfless, patient pistols resting
     at their soldier hips.
     Protests him out of town.

{climax}

     Our story
     Has a modern twist with
     An ancient form of never forget:
     Forgive, as if Our lives depend on it,
     because they does.

{chance}

     If we are to distort the ideal idea of power,
     We must chose to call him Savior
     and wash our own calloused feet
     as well as his’. Disgusting
     for some, I see.

     It is clear to me, the matriarch of
     His chosen polygamy,
     that the Collective Voice uniquely
     hears this silence within that noise.
     The humming humbling mumble;

     Perhaps there is no means to his end.
     Perhaps the devil’s clothes were a costume for Him.
     Perhaps he has yet to take it off since that glowing October day 
     when his mother bought it for him, for staying quiet.
     That coveted, covert-emboldening
     mass-produced, polyester Batman suit.

change

Image: “Poetic Justice,” Samson Gabriel. Samson was born in Russia and studied fine art in Tajikistan and Estonia.  first version published with Reclamation Magazine

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