Wrathchildren


in the prayers coming to our time,,
that would be in the sleep to come,
that my faith had been slipping away,,
coming to the time which would come,,
all that would see to beforth our mind,,
the question burying our mind as we die,
mortality had sealed its doors — coming,,
when in the question coming to us in death,,


human in our denial, from the faith we accept,,
from it would be our souls taken and not missed,
come to our eyes and see before the words below,,
and the eyes and thoughts of the written pages,,,
the journals in dreams coming before we meet with our dying,,
that when God does not give us the answers to our meaning,,,,


sadness follows us as wherever we roam,
among the eye of God we are the nomad,,
in the denial in faith, in words closer to him,,
when we are healed only to become sicker,
coming to the thoughts which become with him,
that when we are told to be pure, only to sin further,,,
blacker in the truth are our nightmares in gospel,,
in the warring truth we fear to close our eyes,,,
that it would be after the years had been told,,,
frozen souls which had been dead and not missed,,


we are born as offspring of the wrathchildren,,,
mothers and fathers of the wrathchildren,,,
messiahs and god of the wrathchildren,,,
healing from the sickness to become sicker,,
decaying flesh while yet we still walk,
wrathchildren we become, yet we are born to die,,
living yet we are the slowly are a human sacrifice,,,
we are worry, fear, and the questions unasked,,,


in the nightmares of war, we are the unborn,,,
in the wars to become — yet the stillborn,,
coming in the dreams will never awaken,,
do we see — among the eyes we are burning,,
as fires catch to flesh waiting for wrath to end,,
waiting for the plague to end among them,,
among us — do we see the illness without cure,
coming before the preachers on the television,,
in the answers on the days of the many gone,,,
in what would be in the dying by the hand,,
burial in the hands of the wrathchildren,,,


do we see the salvation thrown away,,
looking through the gospels of a sinner,,,
among the words written in the black eyes,,
and the death fallen by the idle hands and souls,,
prisoners by our own making, (by our own raping,,)
deceased by our choices  (by maleviolent creations)
do we see our own demise — thoughts in nightmares,,,
from the words written in the eyes of the wrathchildren,,,

© 2001 Nickolaus Pacione