Brimstone Boxes.
Who can we turn to for guidance when we’re taught to not trust ourselves?
Why does a king need more than his people?
I’m looking for guidance while underneath steeples.
The attachment to more
could have sworn that was evil.
But life has trap doors to defeat you.
To do more,
I implore the cathedrals.
Seems their horns speak of scorn and mislead you.
The spirit that conforms to the norms that they feed you
cannot perform when implored to just lead you.
Flood you with fear so you’re torn from the seeds who,
if watered,
might inform and then free you.
Uncomfortable in the skin that we bleed through.
Running from feelings inside us that bleed too.
So busy kneeling and sealing our thoughts,
we can’t keep cool.
Brimstone keeping us flocked to a box,
we’re playing the fool.
As far as sides,
most have to keep two.
Divide from the divine
become deceitful.
Lying about what is inside,
so blind to the truth.
Funny how what we deny is what can seep through.
I lied but my actions belied and start to reach you.
