Our hates tell lies our hearts fear to hear,
Our eyes tell lies our brains shouldn’t recognise,
Our actions tell lies our souls can barely bear,
Our mouths tell lies our ears are too hurt to hear,
We the crowd of witnesses,
The only hands and eyes and hearts and mouths the heavens
have got,
Lay down not our cloaks or our lives,
But our starved hive minds,
Bold lies,
We live elegant and blind before the throne,
Tumbling, prone,
Again and again,
From one false start to another,
One broken heart to each others,
And there are moments,
When the screen cracks,
The facade creaks and we peer through,
Not the veil and not the scanner,
But some altogether other doorway,
Holding Huxley’s hand as we drift,
Through heavens and hells of our own making,
With our minds partaking,
Our eyes feasting,
Our words twisting,
And dreams breaking,
And through it all,
Through it all God persists,
God points towards God’s way,
Holds out a heart,
Pulsing and peaceful,
Calling to the broken,
The sinner,
The damned,
Offering grace,
When our offering is only...
The eyes that stare,
The male gaze,
The words that swear,
The failed ways,
The relationships tattered,
The romances shattered,
The angers flared,
The fists raised,
And this great king,
Longs for us to seek a more hopeful way,
To look differently,
At the words and the actions,
That are strewn across our paths,
Never built to last,
These simple distractions,
Only abstractions of what The Walked Way is supposed to be,
Let us open our fists,
Let us open our eyes and gaze upwards,
Let us sigh heavily in our hearts and exhale,
And let us whisper sweet nothings into the maker’s listening
ear,
For,
Our hates tell lies our hearts fear to hear,
Our eyes tell lies our brains shouldn’t recognise,
Our actions tell lies our souls can barely bear,
Our mouths tell lies our ears are too hurt to hear.
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