Thursday, 9 March 2017

By Rote

Stoking cold coals
that fire beneath
a furnace that burns
with righteous self belief,
Removing the dead ash
of cures
traded for cash
Kindling chopped
and blood mopped from floors,
as we kneel to conceal
crimes behind holy doors
Newspaper tapers are lit
to ignite the fight
of might against wit
but we feel
tight leashes and leads
are pulled as we're brought to heel
A match flares
to illuminate the cares
and stares of hard won faces,
so condemn the gays
the lesbians and he-she's
whilst standing in a box
regurgitating faeces

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