With Power

it is this:
these hands wrapping around
         and twisting around
         and ripping around
my eyes. and my face
and my hair
and my past, and my thoughts
 pulling at the roots, and
pulling at my ideas, and beliefs
it's thinking O I should kneel
I should get down on my hands
on my knees, in my own pool of insanity
and I should ask, and I should plead, and I should speak
but when I get there
when I'm in the position of the humble, the faithful
when I'm down there I can't bow my head
I look up and think you don't deserve me
I crush my crosses and drink my tea
and breath in my Addictions
It's unsaintly
It's being angry and when I do speak
When I care to offer words
It's not respectful
It's not fearing
It's angry and it's fire
and I scream:
PROVE IT
get off your porch and show me you've got it
get off your stilts and fight me here
I can take you.
I can take you down.
And then I break and I'm back.
In my position of the beggar.
I open my eyes and I'm still on the bench
Holding a green book of songs and promises
and something has changed.
Instead of singing
I imagine throwing my book at the leaders
I imagine stripping the world away and dancing
on the fires of burnt words.
And then I open my real eyes
and she's still there reading the proclaimings
and Truths, and Realities
and I take a breath and take the steps to forget
and with out pretending I bow my head
and whisper Amen.