Poetry

Divine Mystery

Oh the
great
weight
of our sin,
poor thin souls
bent
under the rules
we broke,
rules from
long dead
white men
who swore they knew God
better than me
and you
and what we
should and shouldn’t
do
while they watched
the money
and walked
oh
so
piously
and thousands
of years
along
we crawl
and cry
for redemption
from the
dreadful end
sworn by those
old
white
men
in our
spare
hours
between
loud
protestations
toward
subjection
and
oppression

Categories: Poetry

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