Smoke, Ammo, And Holiness Poem by Javier Zamorano

There is a Great Spirit who's heart
lives with us all.
He is our intimate friend,
our intimate enemy.

This spirit who joins us when we weep,
stands protective when we sleep.
Who are we when we curse Her through our sleep?

Spirit without a name,
redemption, damnation-attributes to soothe every
accusing finger,
every righteous heart.
Shame. Shame on......

Spirit. We are all one Great Spirit.
Not just...... spirit.
Great Spirit! ! !

The warrior who fights on from every front.
From our street to their sea,
and do not forget the afflicted dope fiend
who is sick but still sees
and I know of every mother
the pain of bringing, the joy of giving,
life to Spirit.

It is the blessing we turn into a curse
like holding proudly a leather bound Bible,
and shooting loudly a Remmington rifle.
I might go on a Christian retreat
and use blood to cover my deceit.

Spirit who' s voice does not fit our description
relieve us ourselves these afflictions.