external retraction

a man lays dead in a forest of black
a cross around his neck
a vulture on his back
picks the remains of a cold ideal
laid to rest
the death of a forgotten crutch
is the way in which he's blessed.

truth was found by accident
by a woman passing by
the sight of a sunken prophecy
brought her to the ground as she questioned
"why? and how? have we all gone mad?
spent my days holding jealousy,
too much war within my head."

hands fold into fists as a natural response
to years of opposition, and hatred at all cost
and violence begets violence,
within it dwells no god
as products of response we are the carrion
we feed on the destruction
of the parched and barren earth
we feed on the destruction of species
that evolutionarily will surpass us
lead ourselves into battle with ourselves
for a purpose that was never free

freedom is not synonymous with belief

we were never free