Friendly Fire Faith


Is it so freeing…

responsibility?

Spirit?

To hold the tongue…

To succumb to vanity?

Her bedside manner is no…

bed after all.

It has become

a handmade straight jacket

five monkey arms, long.

She smirks and

she smiles.

Yet,

is she part of the

religious conscientious few

or…

just plain old conscious contact…

over swept?

Rumor has it

she had stuck herself with faith

Rumor has it

she had adhered to her amends…

to confess to others mistakes.

What is in her that is….

as they say,

so…

out of reach.

faith 1 faith 2 faith 4

Seven long days,

they say,

without meditation…

makes the meek weak.

She became black

She became white

Within the fifth day…

she had done away with the gray.

All in the name of…

angry justification.

All in the name of…

the moral fiber plantation.

Farmed before the end of tomorrow began

Reaped, sowed, faith-less-ness, had a soap box and a…

traveling roadshow stand.

She, had never started anything knew.

Faith had forever been a place to

box a thought

Check down the street.

Gone girl to the neighborhood store.

Empty spaces, crated faces,

unguided and vacant…

do gooders at the Icon’s door.

On the sixth day, of the tenth hour.

She gave in to not bitter but sour.

Her spirit had tread lightly all the days gone by

Inert and conflicted, She couldn’t give up on why.

The walks, the cops, the daily drudge of farming the freak stand.

On the seventh day…

Faith the wanderer came and took her hand.

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