nursery crimes

nursery crimes




the rafters are dusty
but i
wear it well. 
as witness to the carnage
of
imagined hell.


i flutter on the doorsteps
of
the swollen naves. 
where destinies are chiseled
on
the wanton graves.


but never
is the letting more engrossed in blood
than
near beside the cradles
of
the ones who love.
those mothers and dear fathers
who
profess to be
oracles of long imagined deities.


for in
the star crossed annals
of 
the whims of gods
lay
tortures so engrained
as 
petrified as rods.


so let this be a calling
to
the ones who see:
the blind
they have no business
in a nursery!




sjw 02/05/18 inspired at this very moment in time as the portal wails beyond the self made jails.





from the 'blasphemy series' of poems