God’s Out Sick: Poem II

The second in a series of poems to be featured in my upcoming novel, now titled “God’s Out Sick” (at least for the time being).

This, as all other works posted here unless otherwise noted, is © me, this blog, S.Rae Meisinger and is not to be reposted, recreated, altered, or used anywhere else without permission. Contact me for more information if you would like to use it.

Constructive criticism always welcome.

Hark! The herald angels sing,
“Glory to the Reform King!
Peace for none and mercy lost,
you’re not a person, you’re just a cost.”

They’ve put the pennies on our eyes to keep us blind, to keep us numb.
They’ve put the pennies on our eyes to take them back once we succumb
to death or our fellows’ devil tongues, when it suits their wallets best,
when we have nowhere else to run.

And the cool of the copper is better than the scrape of the wool,
except one is meant to send us to the grave, the other to use us as fuel
to make an example of ignorance to the ignorant masses,
to use as a crutch,
to save their asses.

I proclaim to you now, we don’t need that wealth.

We need our minds, our bodies, our souls, and their respective health

We need what freedom used to be, or at least should have been
We need what freedom meant to me, when thinking wasn’t sin
We need to stand together, hand-in-hand, skin-on-skin
We need to make ourselves better
with every mind corrupted,
every child abducted,
every wall within
and without our haunted cities, derelict and forsaken.

Because our world can’t stand divided, it’s already begun to fall
“streets paved with gold” doesn’t have the same ring
when it comes down to “all for one and none for all”
no matter how loud and proud those dulcet angels sing

So, “Glory to the Reform King,” his filthy bribes, shining smile,
and our fractured dreams.

Glory to the pennies gleaned from cold dead eyes, to the government On High, the extreme Right-wing.

And if that glory would make you sick before you scream
I mean sing,
stand with me and make demand,

“We want free thought, and God be damned!”

Untitled RA: Poem I

This is to be the first of multiple poems featured in my upcoming novel, called for now “Untitled R.A.”

This, as all other works posted here unless otherwise noted, is © me, this blog, S.Rae Meisinger and is not to be reposted, recreated, altered, or used anywhere else without permission. Contact me for more information if you would like to use it.

Constructive criticism always welcome.

We used to sit together under stars with spiderwebs of connection in our eyes,

now we sit alone in the light with spiderwebs in our minds,

and spiders on our hearts, biting hard until they dry,

blacken, wilt, and mummify.

We fill that desolate chamber with the corpses of our thoughts,

constructing and standing on porches built to rot.

There we squat, in a putrid fortress of “I will not!”

But I wish you would, and so will you

when we can recall what our intellects could do,

and will do

and still do

and cannot be forced not to

because we cannot be subdued

with only spiderwebs to cut through

and the power of not one, but two

or three or five or one million and one.

Because what’s been done can be undone-

spiders’ threads can be unspun.

Soon we’ll sit together under stars with the web of connection in our eyes.

Just remember: we’re suited to be the spiders, not the flies.