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Silence Exile and Crumpets
 
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Friday, February 5th, 2016

Time Event
10:48p
My poem for the History Festival Launch
THREE PATHS

There is a path of faith. Humility
Bending to pray. And small acts that are kind
And taking all the comfort you can find
When saying Lord what do you want of me
And sometimes hear a wordless inner
Voice
Mouse whisper or sometimes a thunder chord
Some great CMajor. It is not the Lord
You fear and every day you make the choice
To act as if it were and unconsoled
You live in hope and love and some small trust
That all will be for best. You know it must
For it was promised. There outside of time
Life and eternity one tidy rhyme.

There is a path of law and blood and fear
Of righteous drama. Mercy is a lie.
The greater kindness is that they should die
So sin no more. You will not shed a tear.
Think rather of the innocents misled
Or never born. It is thos would save
You think. For sinners rotten in the grave
You feel no love. Are glad that they are dead.
Nor worry justice mercy love the law
You claim to serve. Tremble. The sin of pride
Makes angels fall and to your soul you lied.
God whom you serve will never know you more.
They do not hear God whisper in each breath
Turn loving kindness into fear and death.

There is a path of honest simple doubt
Faith died or never was. For its own sake
The path of Truth and loving-kindness take
Some do it for their God. You do without.
There's logic to the choice. Do as you would
In the imagined world and not the real
You'd not be stolen from so do not steal
And in cold reason find a spring of good
To water dryness. And do not despise
The godly harmless kind. Fear in the night
We share. They too resist the brutal might
Of killing faith. You see deep in their eyes
Faith's love and doubt's more nearly sibling same
Than those whose worship kills befouls the name
10:51p
My poem for the trans mental health zine Dysphoria
BLUE MONDAY

Over again paws shove. Upon my back
Lie weep am shattered. Blues dog fades my soul
and breaks pride armour sheathing. Like a foal
tottered new legs when young. There is a crack
true mirror over false that I must mend
over again. Skin peels, scars. I must burn
unsightly. Body memories return
bad dream. Past life will never be my friend.
And blues dog is the sad I can't afford
It has my scent although my scent is change
I toss my hair. My clothing I arrange
Style neatly. Lipstick smile the lush curved sword
Cuts world. Snarls hint of teeth. Dog slinks away
Hound on my track. Not this but every day.

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