Our daily bread of brick and stone. We lament. We stumble. We cast our hopes into iron-sky. We harp our cords in galley- ways. We drink our land through straw. We lay down with scorpions.
Afar off the city writes letters to the dead. Why haven’t you come home? Why haven’t we made this place home? Who’s left to shed blood? Whose cooling board is this? Whose smiles are forgotten?
Who is now to abide … Tribulation, degradation, violations, so what is…. what is…. alleged convictions of twisted morality? “Our fathers sit on benches” with their submissions in toe.
They lead us to church but there is no bread.
They lead us to make bricks without straw.
They lead us to war but there is no flame.
They lead us to riot…
but there is no change.
No one will know the lies of our supplication
Nor whose hands defiled our bodies
And with these treacherous truths
We are desperate
Open to us vision that we may crouch before thy mercy seat
Open to us a morsel of bread that we are not destroyed
Open to us again – that we make amends and be called
your house of bread.~Krissy Mosley
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