Children of Magdalene

There are so many dead pretending to live amongst us now
who belong to a church hidden behind the harvest of hate
which takes us in and blinks us out with ignorant eyes
and condemn us for lying together in the tombs of our beds
while their savior hangs from nails displayed on hollow walls
and our sacrifices are left to hang on fences
bleeding rivers of glory
to wash away the sins of their world

This prejudice is the pain that clouds my eyes and knots my spine
the scars on the back of my head
engraved by those who reach out open arms
bloodied with hypocrisy, lost dreams, and intangible mantras
those who haunt our daily prayers
with the sounds of oppression
to silence our shepherds with death
because death equals dreams never to be heard of again
and our prophets get no maps to salvation

But the wind will not inherit the echoes of our souls

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poem by Emanuel Xavier
Added by Poetry Lover
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