Brother, Stone Wielder
I am not the apple of our Father's eye
Sungathered sweetmeats, a packet of seeds
The stiff rhymed promise of a tree
I am not the Law that cast us out
That's God's blind justice or His blind rage
Banished us from Garden's walls (or was it cage?)
I am not the Serpent demands be tamed
Reptile spine worming fear down backs
Tonguing air for charge along any fissure, split or crack
I am not the Curse that caused out toil
Shoulder tilted toward grubby wheeled mortality
That withers each and all like that accursed tree
I am not our Mother's labor pains
That pearls the earth red with iron blood
And seeds rich afterbirth into the mud
I am not that final choice of violence
The kiss that strikes down love and betrays trust
The last bitter fraternity of clay, salt and dust
And I am not the god that bears the blame
Who's watery word is sunder, separate, divide
From who's wrath we children know to hide
I am not this new fluid seeps upon the ground
Nor the sacrifice will set you free
That Lamb is you, the Altar me
