16th Day: It Calls For A Poem

YOUR NAME IS MUD

God was buried alone, by his own hand,
in the dirt.

He started it.

Jesus spit in that dirt
and rubbed it over a blind someone's eyes.

In remembrance.


I wanted to cry.
I couldn't believe it.
I didn't see it coming
with my own eyes.

Someone
sucking in their breath.
Someone
always praying for death.
Someone
left their room in a mess.

They live to defy.
They live to have it all.
They live to give

the last goodbye.


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