Comb Your Hair
Dear sister I have been mistreated but surely not defeated
The fit are unruly and those who rule unfit to wear their minds along their brow
Pitted and fallen are we claimed she
Uproot all the timid, surely they’ll quake
The Earth is at rest while the heavens are testing
Surely the catacombs are our place of hiding
Rapture the worthy, the poor, and the hopeless still more
Braven the brittle and salvage what’s left of the widow’s stores
For we are at war, O’ good women, it’s a fight they will get
A Patriot cry, a life worth living, a pride in my name that keeps me standing
Hearty or meek, we’ll take the keep
Bind them up, but don’t let them bleed for pure bred savages are what we need
The breasts of the mothers who weep for the bodies
The weary who laugh gas portrait tears leaving their insight foggy
The Devil is hunting, Oh but let him flee
For our fists will have him fishing for his faith like rotting bait
Breeding among us are the wolves that seek only to measure their gut
And they will fill the skies 70 meters high with the the must of unfinished feet
Winded by bows of boredom and broiled beliefs
Sifted through, borrowed, unused
The lazy will not lay seated in our ancient sanctuaries
They will lay pitted among the soiled seeds and left to the leeches
Reign in the kingdom of popular knowledge do both snakes and sirens
Danger is beneath us and furnaces over heat us,
Leavened bread will rise our eyes to the souls in need of teachers
If education ain’t free then dare me to teach for free
Let linen and fleece overwhelm us all
For the sun rises still again, constant with the moon
Midnight is foreign and sunlight is gloom
For inside these walls our eyes will close soon
The mirrors outs our flaws and undersea our scars
But heaven is shaking and creation’s worship awaits us
If every day is good and every evening soon
Then tomorrow is only distant, a matter of your zoom
Jupiter is rising further south than my liking
Perhaps it was the wind that blew it there
Or the birds that sang it somewhere upstairs
Or the lions that laughed it underneath body beats
Or the vines carried it to prepare it for more pruning
Signs are timing and the clocks are not ceasing
So listen little one, I know you are bare, but don’t be a fool
Comb your hair.
Copyright © Rebekah Guerra | Year Posted 2020
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