Preachers taint the torture of Saints; Prophets Plow the heart for change. Old ladies laugh and curse my name, beneath my stars to their own shame.

Complacency draped upon my skin as the world crumbles beneath my sin, Slavery stitched in the very fabric of my clothes, interweaving prayers I free their souls.

The wind blows wild and with it I grow, gusting my failures, breathing my woes. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                        Jay Power may 8 2013