We Don’t Need Their Stones

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She waits before their altar
With bloody hands
And dirty feet;
Hoping to come clean
In the water
They claim is for washing
But drink like bourbon.

Honey,
You won’t find holy there.
Only scorn for ashes.
They don’t know beauty.
Talk about it in songs,
Preach upon it’s theory,
But of it
They are void.

They’ve painted bullets white,
The color of young caskets.
Look upon the bones
Where they craft ivory chains;
They will bind and bury you.

Love,
Your penitent and contrite heart
Are enough.
Look into the face of God and be clean.
You don’t need to drink their water.
It isn’t holy;
Only poison to make you numb;
To make you sour;
To press you into the mold
Of their cross-shaped box.

Beautiful you,
None of us are enough.
It’s why we need each other,
But only those who will hold us up.
Not those
Who like cancer
Eat you up until there is nothing left.
That isn’t God.

God,
Gave sinners a home,
Took from us our stones.
Made food of himself
So we
Would never go hungry.
Taught us to love our neighbors
As we love ourselves;
Meaning we must also
Love ourselves.

We need not be martyrs
For those who tell us
We need them to know God.
God has made himself known
To us;
For us.

Love,
Know his light burns in you
So cast it upon the dark.
Send the shadows fleeing,
And leave the bleeding
To those whose lives
Are built upon throwing stones.

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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