Burial of Faith

the slack-handed joy-wracked
throes of jealousy,
slipping through the
stands of trees,
encircle our
faith's cemetery,
our hope for green-faced
inalienabky chaste
sisters of greed
drinking Onan's seed
(Oh how they choke)
who fail to make
the mistake of taking
truth too seriously.
Wy can't these throes
see our faults and fissures
that quake our souls
and shake our goals
are possibilities?
Until we flee
the burial of faith,
crack those slack hands,
learn to doubt
all that's green
we can never be free.

by Jason Paul Fox


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poem written by JASON PAUL FOX.
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
Creative Commons License
Violators are prosecuted, no joke!
I'm living off the generosity of plagiarists now!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)

copyright 2007 Jason Paul Fox