the death of god

black dresses are draped over heartbeats
as holy tears make memories taste bittersweet.
i sit and kneel on cue as echoes form
through the smoke-filled room.

tonight, i've come to your passing.
and suddenly, the sun-drenched glow
of my childhood no longer burns.
instead of looking up, i bow my head
and embrace a life filtered through false words.

they speak for you and cleanse themselves
with dirty hands then wipe the dirt off
on our souls. we can't wash away the wound
so we mourn your loss on sunday mornings
and play the part of preachers' puppets,
praying and paying for the life of a church
that houses hatred in your name.

and now the word is the word of men
who exclude women from having a voice
who come into power through propaganda
and think that marriage can not be our choice.

i'll take my words back to the streets
to seek a perspective away from pollution.
because we lay in the ground of a great disaster
until our innocence rises again.