What makes you think you are right?

I dreamed of a night with stars above,
millions of other dreamers about me,
shod with life’s tired and worn shoes,
toeing the edge of a decaying precipice,
the next step a door between worlds,
darkness, light – damnation, salvation,
is there a choice, is destiny mapped,
when do we leave this path, to face
the calamity of our ultimate fate,
when that time comes, as it will,
how are we scribed in the book of life,
some say it is not for us to know,
still I ask, can one accept only chance,
the wrong place at the wrong time,
when is the dark angel ever right,
life snuffed by the world’s insanity,
religious fervor screaming “God is great,”
there, now you have the arbiter,
it is emblazoned on every particle,
“Bless me Father for I have sinned,”
the wafer is stale, the wine; vinegar,
the priest has dirty finger nails,
rivers of blood ooze from the Bible,
from the Koran, from every word,
from every holy book ever written,
from the lifeless lips of children,
from the souls of mothers, fathers,
from the heart of self-righteous nations,
from the bowels of despots and bigots,
from the pious pitiless, and pompous,
the void leads to a bottomless pit,
from which there is no salvation, no light.
dogma’s beast has opened its maw to eat,
all are consumed by their beliefs,
silenced, their psychopathic shrill  becomes,
a mountain of cast off, tired worn shoes.

@2012, Donald Harbour

These shoes

what feet have walked in these shoes,
where have they traveled untold miles,
have they trod a hot dusty plantation road,
bruised and burdened by years of burden,
have they felt the blisters of the field,
the pain of the long hoed furrow,
what misery have they withstood, these shoes
wading the rising stream of history,
stumbling across conflict’s slippery rocks,
crossing the granite steps of destiny,
have they trampled over barbwire,
heard the whistle of bullets, death’s sting,
their soles sodden and soaked in blood,
tripping on the remains of fallen heroes,
have they followed the path of freedom,
marching in the name of righting wrong,
washed by the fire hose of ignorant bigotry,
what do these shoes know that we should know,
has their leather and thread held,
binding the resolve of a nation to be better,
to be something more than religious zeal,
weathering the greed of the money counters,
patching their wear with a people’s conscience,
have they taken up the challenge to leaders,
demanded that what is written will be truth,
that all that exist are equal in life, in creation,
is it only for poets to ask where they have been,
will others find the answers in their soul,
who will pick up these shoes and repair them,
who will continue this magnificent human journey,
who will believe in the brotherhood of all creatures
who will wear these shoes

©2011, Donald Harbour