words

don’t let god crush you in his hand,
his is a hard world to endure
and he a hard spirit to appease
that does not accept sacrifice,
this place is purgatory
with pine trees that skirt the heavens
and brush the clouds,
the gray sky a manifest of your heart
as it waits here,
as it slowly inherits
the qualities of stone.

god is watching and measuring your guilt
and shame on some barbaric scale,
he said the weird die young,
the weird must perish first
and so the days here are spent
slowly counting down
to the hour when he will exact
that which is due him.

your souls are twisted and gnarled
like knots in a tree,
the collective of the womb oak
and this familial clan
must hammer out an existence
while bearing some metaphysical debt
that may or may not be paid.

this place is savage,
caught between paradise and hell,
with dogs that watch the roads
with envy in their blood,
fires that burn simply to burn,
flames that put back the night
and sparks that move on with the wind
to secure the onset of morning
and as i follow
i see god has opened up the floor of heaven
and let his light fall upon you briefly,
a transient warmth that he must surrender
only for a moment
so that your hearts do not go soft.

-S.C. Martinez