Blame It On God Poem by Eric Cockrell

i hear the clamor,
i feel the roar.
waves pounding against the rocks,
bare feet walking the tiny cell.

the lies we've told
much less than the lies we've become.
blame it on god,
and kill the insurrection.

for every bite we take,
another does without.
for every turn of the page,
another grave is dug.

we pray to war,
afraid to sleep by ourselves.
and borrow from the darkness,
to silence the dawn.

even the children of hate,
cry, shit, and need.
we throw rocks at the dogs,
smoke churning from the stack.

with blood on our lips,
we recite the faceless chant.
walk away from the fires,
cold and unaffected.

god shakes the lice from her head,
covering bodies with ashes and dirt.
rocks the orphan in stillness,
feeds the begger from her breasts.

cleans the urine and pus,
from the old woman dying.
holds the shaking addict,
hears the murderer's prayer.

fills the bowls of the hungry,
covers the homeless with blankets.
sits all night in the cell
of the falsely condemned.

walks like moonlight
through the barelimbed trees,
to stand outside your window...
or could it be just the wind?