At a splintered glance,
the slaughtering branch
suggest a new understanding
for the dreaded masses, commanding
a new meaning for the dying
denying their aggressive lying
The persecuted forget, they are not
above the light they once sought.
The fragile line between life and death
our thoughts listen with bated breath
to the splintered verses
or screaming curses.
Silence takes from a skeleton
whose bones shudder like gelation
praying for tenderness beyond this page
that the lost secrets won’t engage
the destruction of mankind
through the years we refined
our lies, and plead naiveté
although our reactions betray
our abandoned view
until the cowering end
we feel entitled to a godsend.