Any Given Sunday

From the tops of electric mountains
Our status has risen
WE are risen 

With a click

And tap

Upon the glass of houses

Built upon strokes across keys

Boats across oceans

Hearing the rap

Of god's whip upon their backs

Each crack swallows us whole

And we click and tap

To words we don't understand

And dig our nails deep into the sound

Of our own falling

Digging in deep

Heels pressed against faces

Filling mouths with broken teeth

And the taste of freedom
Boots dug deep into rib cages

Pushing dirt into lungs

To stop them from breathing
From filling up
God is in heels of boots
The spines of books
And the men that fear them
Salvation is in the slaughter of children
When the become men with crooked smiles
Wearing the weight of crowns
To bury what they have done
Tapping toes
On the dingy floors of  hearts
Keep on dancing
Ticking bombs in throats
And ticker tape parades for gods behind glass
It is, after all, what we've asked for
To be risen
Lifted by the holy words of men
Who only hear god in their own voices


For One Shot Wednesday at onestoppoetry.com