Whispers seep upward
through caked gallows

You’ve silenced thee. Spat on thee.
Beaten thee. Hanged thee.  

Shall the onlookers cease gawking long enough to see? 

Will their sense of comfort and correctness belay their humanity? 

Like the pinnacle of a waxing moon the breath of the persecuted hangs in the air— 

Let the color of our blood redden your teeth stained. Let our flayed flesh forever fill your mouths. And may you drown in the drink of the memories of flopped tongues and soiled thighs. 

For the time is upon you to reel.  

For the time is upon us to ruin. 

For its time demands ceremony—  

Not on high but on the level of all human kind.  

Now the souls of Golgotha,
those captured in skullduggery,
and lowered in mastery.  

They lack the ability
to lie in liberty,
while the noose of servitude
Breathes life.   

So burn your crosses
And unleash your dogs.
Go ahead and arm your men
with propaganda and lead.  

Just remember what your bible says—He who strays from the path of understanding
keeps company with the dead.