Poetry: Saints Sinning.


In books written
Matyrs were made, and heros saved
In books written
Worlds travelled through an isle they paved
And souls of slaves couldn’t fit in.
Their spirits roamed and their minds caved
Souls will forever be enslaved
In books written.

Have never
Heard of saints sinning.
Such misnomer, orderly
Smitten by broken reason
Can resurrect truth
Never known

In books written
Sinners and saints were names engraved
In books written
Meanings were somewhat so depraved,
Order saved no faces smitten –
Religion cursed before it waved
And so the path remained unpaved
In books written.

The day we
Deep in waters clean,
Too corrupt to mislead men,
Our covers of sacred sins
Will bury the will
To unlive

I read of you
your purity and unstained ways.
I read of you
Of your consciousness to new days.
You who died ugly became new,
holding this path like the sun rays.
Your past passed our eyes as a phase
I read of you.

Who lived right,
Had little mishaps
Not to be told or read-off
How did you learn about sin?
I ask thee, clean suns,
Your death shinesー

I read of you
those who carried the sun ablaze,
I read of you.
Imperfections knew not your clays.
You lived with a grace of our few.
Differentiated good with a gaze.
Your lives was a transparent phrase.
I read of you

Raw power
Embedded in you.
To disregard your dark ways,
Studied by horrible eyes.
No records of sin
Follows you


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