Burning Saints

Burning Saints

my grand father did this, I know

my father did this too, I was told

they burned saints, cards with saints

in effigy and prayers like poems

printed on the back

it was a ritual that came from their

homeland that was meant to show

no allegiance or moral would

interfere with the work

at hand

with the expectation

of loyalty above all

to the principle

of this thing

that was

supposedly

theirs

and theirs alone

the truth came out

eventually

it was not enough

of a gesture

to hold the rest of the world

at bay

they met their deaths

the same way they

had caused the deaths

of others

violent and fast

the ashes of burnt sainthood

have been dissolved in my blood

since before I was born

into the bastard sin of this life

I have eaten all the small fires

of card stock prayers and saints

inside my imprisoned dreams

they have made me stronger

when I was at my weakest

but, god seemed to tire

of all the empty gestures

the tally of human sin does not seem

to be of interest to god

in any cause and effect determination

that I have ever witnessed

I have traveled near and far

meeting many people

in many other places

with many other ideas

about who god is

for themselves

I put them all together

in my mind's eye

and I see the god

I see god for who

god really is

god is tired

god's eyelids droop

as god waves a

tired hand

absolving sin from the wretched demons

that have made god weary with playfulness

while we wept on river banks

wringing our hands

shaking our heads

begging for tearful forgiveness

when all we had to do

was scream loud enough

for god to hear

thy will be done

then get about

the doing

of it

right away