13thWR

WHEN ALL THIS IS OVER


midnight filled
with the sticky eyes
of priests

with the blind
groping hands
of god

my son asleep and dreaming
of the sky
my wife awake
and refusing to speak

staring at the wall
as my poems crawl up the
length of her body

swarm around her eyes
and slide down her throat
and i understand what
she's afraid of

that love will become another
twisted meaningless word
hung by its own hand

that my anger will swallow
both of us whole

and i would hold her hand but
it's never that simple

would give her
all of me but
i am not that brave

i will need something
to call my own
when all of this
is over

- John Sweet