Shed a tear for Jesus

Just like everything else,
God
is a business.
Vast amounts of money are
spent, paid,
and thrown away
in the name of
God.
There are some speakers of
God
charging hundreds of dollars
for a ticket to come see their show.
And don't be mistaken, it is a show-
a fine performance dedicated to
the act of swindling money
from desperate people.
They'll say that the money goes to charity
or to the church,
but it casually goes toward
their living expenses
with a few coins tossed to the needy
to make it look good.
Don't be mistaken,
God
is a business - BIG BUSINESS -
and these soothsayers make plenty
from a few lectures
on how you should lead your life.

Now this isn't to say that
God
is a bad idea,
but I'm pretty sure
that if there is a
God,
He's probably not struggling
to pay His rent
or
desperately trying to make His car payment.

This is to say that there are
Greasy,
Swindling,
No Good
Bastards out there
making money on Faith.

They look pretty,
wear nice suits,
have the latest hairstyles,
and drive luxury cars
all on your bill.

They have the brightest smiles
because they can afford
a fantastic dental plan.

In a way,
they're a lot like Politicians,
but rather than peddling Freedom
for tax dollars,
they're trying to sell you
on the idea that you can somehow buy
Salvation.

an individual purpose

what the fuck are we doing here?
the hate
the violence
the silence
the fear

single cells tearing away the life
through pain
through menace
through penance
through strife

life doesn't get any easier
and we can't help ourselves
to the directions we steer
and the decisions we delve

what is it about suffering
that turns us on;
some portion of the ego
that proves someone else wrong?
it's a never ending battle with
who we are
and who they are-
and to prove it,
we carry the scars-
little battle cries from the flesh,
tepid memories of what we've endured
and most of the wounds are fresh
to make our histories assured

it's all where we've been
and rarely of where we're going
every single transgression and sin
emblazoned through the blood
found flowing
from taut flesh
and the bone that pokes through
to remind us
of the very things that we do
to make life worth living
but when the living is through
what was it that made
the very essence of you?

Take a moment.

When you look in the mirror,
what     do     you     see    ?
Do you see the person who
puts       you       down      ?
- the person  who should be
responsible       for       your
happiness? Do you see what
you've always wanted to be,
or the very thing you fear the
most?  Are   you   living   the
dream, or swimming through
the  n  i  g  h  t  m  a  r  e  ?
Each   moment   is   at   your
fingertips;   patiently   waiting
for  you  to  reach   out   and
touch it. Take  hold  of  your
joy  and  make  it  a  part  of
yourself.  It is who you really
are   behind   the   reflection.
Stop  looking  at  the  outline
and    concentrate    on    the
image. Smile,  because that's
who      you      truly       are.

No   one   can  adapt  to  the
moment    quite     like    you.

inner wars

And
that dark stain
bleeding through the skin

And
that great heavy emotion
playing in the guts

And
that fine thread of optimism
that keeps telling you
it's going to be all right

So
marches the song
of the distraught

So
says the meat

Give
that last part of yourself
so you may be devoid
of its trappings

Play
at the puddle of madness
like a child
trudging through the mud

no escape
so says the meat

Live
so you may die of life

What
possesses you-
compels you
to reach farther
than you ever have
before

try that

a certain sensitivity

the Stresses of Life
gently lapping at the sores
working its tongue
under the skin
through the muscle
and back again

the feeling of
being drowned
in your own spit

of parting your chest
to expose the bone
of cracked ribs
which hides a heart
punctured
from its own tissue

every weight
stacking high
on your throat
slowly cutting off
the air
so you can't smell
the sour of
your own sweat

little temptations
marching out
from beneath the shadows
to show you
what real fear is

by the time you realize
what you've done to yourself
it feels as if it's too late
as if you can't even
crawl into a hole
and hide yourself
from yourself

a cairn
culminated of each tragedy
balancing
on center
dead center
threatening to tumble over
and leave you
empty

and you have to find
value in something
something to keep you struggling-
but it all seems so useless
so tiring and graven

hopes and promises
whisked away
on the tender fingers
of all those who have jabbed you
in the chest
right over the heart
that never seems to heal

empty lies-
every one
told in secret
behind your eyes
giving charm to the notion
that you're
the only one
who has ever felt before

shaken and stirred

on a hook
with no sign
of release-
waiting for
                  the
      inevitable
to shower down
from above and
drench the soul
     in blood
while the meat
  grinder
    churns
its wicked teeth
so far below,
awaiting the body
                            to
                                fall-
the fear persists
and the challenges
tear the skin
in two-
all the writhing parts
           lapped up
      by fate
aNd  spit  oUt
       again
because the taste
             is rancid
and the meat is full of bones

they say we die in SIN
and BURN in HELL,
but it isn't true.
we live HELL
every day and never
                 SIN
enough to truly deserve it

the broken, and certain cycles

a broken fist
a gash about the jaw-
nothing hurts as much
as the war taking place
in the head

the criminal tongues
taking away
peace of mind-
conducting
trials for the
next chemical introduced
to the writhing masses
as an experiment
in flame-
conjured in words
that have a tendency
to kill

it's not the bodily harm
as much as it's
the mental anguish
we impart upon
one another
for fortune and
gain
at the cost of
everything we
hope to believe in

so many wrongs
done to so many
people
at the expense of
innocence

and

we toss it away
as if it were
nothing at all

as if innocence
were a crime
steeped in
ignorance

only fools believe
in integrity

and

truth

and

justice done
for the sake of
the future
of
justice

how many children
learn to beat mothers
from fathers
beating mothers
in front of
children
?

how many children
grow up to drink
away the fathers
memory
of the mothers who
stood by
drunk fathers
?

how many children
take the beatings
of future fathers
because of
past fathers
who beat
and battered
in front
of the innocence
of children
?

a snake biting its own tail
savagely repeating
history
in smoke and mirrors
all to come up and
be done again
and again
until the
end
of time

amen.