Holy Hell

Truth is always in harmony with herself, and is not concerned chiefly to reveal the justice that may consist with wrong-doing. - Thoreau

It's okay.

The sun will come out another day.

Bring me your misplaced anger my dear mother.

Take it out upon me and my brother.

Summon your demon.

Born of Satan's damned semen.

Striding into our room at night clutching your old leather belt.

With all the anger you felt.

Manifest in yet another red welt.

Pull down the covers and expose our innocent, young skin.

Pain is the only thing that makes us remotely kin.

We try to fight back with unblemished hands to keep the protective covers up.

Like an innocent, sacred, last-supper cup.

We flee down the hallway from that sacrilegious room.

Running on legs that are the fruit of your womb.

Screaming in terror.

Like a grieving pallbearer.

Dad calls out from his favorite living-room chair, "Don't you think they've had enough?"

But she does not fall for his feeble bluff.

Death comes to us all.

With an unmitigated gall.

So bring me your evil noose.

As your unwanted nightmare flies loose.

You thought it was game-over and checkmate.

But you don't control creation's precious fate.

It's okay my dear mother.

I'll pull the golden ripcord.

My name nailed to God's three-pronged clipboard.

You see, I've learned how to pray.

On knees made of clay.

Able to survive faith's drought.

Amidst your carcinogenic, nuclear fallout.

I finally know why Adam and Eve hid.

And Jesus did what he did.

They say that the truth sets us free.

Well, it didn't for me.

We were supposed to be your blessed boys.

Not your godforsaken tinker toys.

I'll see you when truth holds a reunion in Hell.

As the strap marks swell.

We'll dance in Lucifer's deep, dark pit.

Because to tell you the truth ...

... I no longer give a s**t ...

Author's Note

"Justice is sweet and musical; but injustice is harsh and discordant." - Thoreau