Ashes to forehead
Hand to the fire
Mold your own morals
Whatever's required
Pray to your God
Know that he'll hear
Hate all the others
The ones that you fear
Enter the church
Wearing your sin
Sit near the preacher
Welcomes you in
Spit out old hatreds
Blue, white, and red
They offer love
You shoot them dead.
submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count with MZ,
*
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen
