The Gods We Become? Poem by Eric Cockrell

we kill...
'holy' hands forming gods
out of our paper bag hungers,
in the image of our fears.
we sacrifice blood,
in the name of redemption.
and the ghosts of the innocents
burn our thoughts and our eyes.

what kind of father
teaches his children
to kill each other?
are we bastards, or liars,
afraid of our sins?

even the earth we defile,
cries against us in anguish.
the morality we buy and sell,
is bitter to the taste.

the voice of the eternal,
lost in the din and the madness.
leaving only the tug of the wind,
the cries of small children
the whimper of stray dogs.

words written in charcoal,
on forever grey skies...
'i have come to you,
again and again,
in countless forms,
speaking your own languages,
wearing your own skin...

why have you forgotten me?
and who do you follow? '
the voice behind gods,
or the gods we become?