Landscapes

fragment
of a text
that will not be still
its words
crawling under
my skin
like an infestation
of righteous fleas
burrowing deep
into the meat
of history
where the innocent
are always
already guilty
their screams echoing
through the ages
as the chosen ones
are chosen
again and again
the same story
of blood
and fire
and smoke
the stench
of burning flesh
a sweet savor
to the nostrils
of the one
who is
always watching
always judging
always weighing
the hearts
of the faithful
on the scales
of a merciless
justice
where mercy
is a distant rumor
a whispered promise
never kept
and the faithful
are fed
a diet
of fear
and obedience
their minds clouded
with the smoke
of a thousand
burning cities
their hearts
hardened
against the cries
of the forsaken